





















THE LITTLE FIDDLER 
OF THE OZARKS 
































































































































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SEATED ON THE LEDGE NEAR THIS ENTRANCE, WITH HER 
FEET IN THE SPLASHING WATER-FALL, WAS NORRIS. 

Page i6a. 


2,1 mm 


THE 




LITTLE FIDDLER 


OF THE OZARKS 






A NOVEL 








BY 

JOHN BRECKENRIDGE ELLIS 

Author of “ Franf “ The Soul of a Serf,” etc. 






Original Illustrations by H. S. DeLay 




n 





CHICAGO 

LAIRD & LEE, Publishers 


%. A^A- 


Copyright, 1913, 

By WILLIAM H. LEE 


ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 


® 0 

iflp Jfflotfjer 
3n jffilemorp of 
Prigfjt ©?ark Baps 



CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. In the Wilderness 7 

II. The Girl in the Sunbonnet 15 

III. "Voices of the Forest 20 

IV. Claude Rescues the Girl in the Sun- 

bonnet 30 

V. Rodney Finds the Beautiful Woman. ... 41 

VI. The Girl and the Beautiful Woman . . 47 

VII. The Beautiful Woman at Home 58 

VIII. The Girl Saves Claude from the Pit . . . 64 

IX. Claude Goes to the Dance 71 

X. The Storm 81 

XI. The Girl at Home . 95 

XII. The Beautiful Woman Goes Hunting. . 103 

XIII. Little Brave Heart 111 

XIV. The Love of Giles Gradley 122 

XV. Will the Beautiful Woman go to the 

Dance? 134 

XVI. The Shadow in the Pool 144 

XVII. The Mystery of the Little Fiddler 148 

XVIII. The Green Witch 160 

XIX. The Pistol and the Handkerchief 170 

XX. The Ozark Song 175 

The Ozark Song, Words and Music . . 185 

XXI. The Kiss in the Moonlight 189 

XXII. Lost in the Cave 196 

XXIII. Claude Meets the Little Fiddler 204 

XXIV. The Kiss in the Shadow 213 

XXV. The Little Fiddler’s Victory 226 

XXVI. Mystery of Cave Spring 244 

XXVII. Given in Trust 253 

XXVIII. The Search 265 

XXIX. A Town in the Ozarks 277 

XXX. In the City Streets 288 

XXXI. In a State of Nature 297 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Seated on the ledge near this entrance, 


with her feet in the splashing water- 
fall, was Norris Frontispiece Is 

PAGE 

The young woman clasped her hands and 

uttered a smothered cry 20 

Claude sprang forward and was soon at the 

captive’s side 44 

It was the girl whom Claude had rescued from 

the mob 60 


The Little Fiddler stood upon an inverted 

wagon-bed 76 

“Mrs. Gradley ! ” Claude exclaimed 108 

It was then Claude perceived the pistol in v 
Gradley’s hand. . 196 


He could discern the figure of the musician 


bending over the violin 206 

Norris sprang forward and nestled against 

his bosom. She had won 244 


THE 


LITTLE FIDDLER OF THE OZARKS 


CHAPTER I 

IN THE WILDERNESS 

W ITH the murmur of the forest and the quick 
rush of a mountain stream, mingled the groan- 
ing of a heavy wagon, as it made its way 
through the solitudes of the Ozark Plateau. Sometimes 
when the vehicle with its burden of tent and camp- 
furniture began sliding down shelving ledges of rock, 
nothing saved it from being dashed into the valley but 
the catching of its massive wheels in age-worn ruts. 
When, at rare spaces, the horses traversed real earth, 
their hoofs left little more impression than upon the 
stones. Occasionally shallow pools extended across the 
road, but the driver, a native of the country, never paused, 
knowing they would find no mud. 

After splashing through a body of water as extensive 
as a small lake, the young man, who was seated on the 
folded tent at the rear, called to the driver — “In my 
country, standing water means trouble.” 

7 



8 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


“Yap,” said the heavy-set and heavily- whiskered driver, 
“you gents come from the black lands, I reckon.” 

The young man’s friend, who shared the driver’s seat, 
nodded. This friend, Rodney Bates, was middle-aged, 
jolly of countenance, bronzed from much exposure, tall 
and broad-shouldered, with the faculty of quickly mak- 
ing friends and easily forgetting them. 

Claude Walcott knew his friend’s disposition so thor- 
oughly, that he often wondered at Bates’s persistent 
remembrance of the mysterious creature whom he called 
“the Beautiful Woman.” Bates had seen her but once, 
two years ago, when on a hunting trip in the Ozarks; 
but the bachelor of forty never tired of describing her 
wondrous charms; the young man of twenty-four, who 
had never seen her at all, had formed a mental image 
sufficiently alluring to cause him to hope that she had 
not left the neighborhood. 

The driver continued, chewing industriously, “Yap. 
When rain falls here, it’s for keeps. It just stays like 
visitors I’ve knowed which they can’t git away. I’ve 
saw a pool of water stand in the road — the same pool 
and the same road — from apple-blossoming to gethering- 
time. It may of went then, I quit noticing. Being ten 
mile from any railroad, I have got to be a considerable 
observer of Nature.” 

Rodney Bates inquired, “Aren’t we near the place 
where Wolf Branch empties into Possum Creek? The 
wedge of land formed by the intersection, is where we 


OF THE OZARKS 


9 


pitch camp. That young fellow — ” nodding backwards 
at Claude Walcott — “bought up the wedge with a thou- 
sand acres around it, and he wants to take possession in 
the center of his domain.” 

“I ain’t never saw that wedge of land for to regard 
it as property, but I know Wolf Branch and I know 
Possum Creek. Where they join forces ain’t far from 
here, but it’s like this: in the Ozarks you have to go 
a long ways to git anywheres. If I was a bird, it’d 
be different, but I ain’t, and you neither. We’ll have 
to pass through Ozarka — And speaking of Ozarka, ever 
hear of a fellow called Giles Gradley?” 

“Sure!” Bates beamed jovially. “That’s the man 
who has employed me to drill on his land for oil. I 
sent on my walking-beam, and so forth, a week ago. 
My young friend is going to camp out and play for a 
few weeks while I work myself to death. Do you know 
Mr. Gradley? Have a cigar!” 

“Nuck, thanky. Keep your fire lit, but I stands by 
my pumps. Ever see him?” 

“Giles Gradley? No — he saw a write-up about me, 
as an expert driller, and wired me in Kansas City — 
where this young friend of mine pretends to be busy in 
a real estate office. What sort of chap is your Mr. 
Gradley?” 

“I don’t know how to lay before you what is in my 
mind,” was the slow response. “I ain’t trained. I’m 
in a state of nature, having been to school not very fre- 


10 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


quent, though you might not think it. My name is 
Peter Poll which you have neither one asked it, but the 
same is Peter Poff, most usually ‘Pete.’ Now I have a 
brother which his name is Bud — Bud Poff. You ask 
Bud about Giles Gradley. Bud, he don’t like him — nor 
I — but who does?” 

Claude Walcott, paying no attention to these words, 
gazed pensively into the dark recesses of the forest. 
“Rod,” he shouted, to make himself heard above the 
groaning and straining of the wagon and the clatter of the 
horses’ hoofs, “if we are getting near Ozarka, we must be 
near the spot where you were hunting, two years ago, 
when the bushes parted and you saw the most beautiful 
dear — ahem! I believe you said your gun was cocked and 
aimed, but you were too startled to fire. Do you sup- 
pose she — it — is still roaming the woods, and that we — ” 

Rodney raised his voice to drown out such indiscreet 
badinage: “Why don’t you like Mr. Gradley?” 

Peter Poff struggled painfully for adequate words. 
“I’ve never heard of his harming no one. He goes 
charging about at times, on a big black hoss, whooping and 
hollering like a crazy man. He keeps the store in 
Ozarka, but he’s nobody’s friend. Ain’t that enough to 
say of any man, to place him in a niche to hisself? Now 
me, I’m like an appletree that ain’t never been trimmed 
nor sprayed nor fertilized; nobody looks for a full crop 
out of me, but they knows that what fruit I does bear 
is of my own raising with a good sound core to it and 


OF THE OZARKS 


11 


not much as to appearances. But Giles Gradley with 
all his education and advantages, sprayed and digged 
about as he is, bears fruit rotten to the heart.” 

Claude, still musing, called, “How big a town is 
Ozarka?” 

“Just about as big as Giles Gradley,” returned Peter. 
“Yonder’s his store, now; and over there’s the black- 
smith shop; and that’s him; and here we are, our own 
selves.” 

The road wrenched itself out of a tangled under- 
growth and mounted to a small clearing. Only two 
buildings were visible, the blacksmith shop on one side, 
and across the way, the shanty of a single square room, 
built flat upon the ground, showing above its only door- 
way the red-lettered sign — 

STORE 

The attention of those in the wagon was at once caught 
by the slight form of a girl, or young woman, who 
had paused before the store entrance. Her head was 
concealed beneath a large sunbonnet, and as her face was 
turned from the wagon, Claude could not discern any 
of her features. Nevertheless, in spite of the plain home- 
spun dress and the size of the bonnet which seemed pre- 
posterously out of proportion, Claude was struck by a 
certain grace in her manner of standing, which he had 
not expected to find in the wilderness. Her feet and 
hands were small and well-formed, and the shawl which 


12 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


hung from her shoulders, was marked with red bars 
that gave a dull relief to the lonely picture. Near at 
hand stood a pecan-tree to which was fastened a large 
and powerfully-built black horse. 

“That’s his’n,” muttered Peter, as he checked the 
wagon. “If you-all ever meet Giles Gradley on that 
there hoss, give him all the road he can cover.” 

“Is that his wife, in the doorway?” Claude inquired, 
staring curiously at the slender figure, and wishing he 
might see under the bonnet. 

Peter did not heed the inquiry. 

From the blacksmith shop came the sound of hammer- 
ing. Just within the brooding gloom of the interior, 
the smith was shoeing a horse, his face painted in crim- 
son hues from the flaring furnace. The owner of the 
horse waited outside, his legs slightly bent outward at 
the knees, his thin shoulders stooping forward, his jaws, 
like Peter’s, ever at work. 

“Hello, Bud,” Peter called. “Anybody in town but 
you?” 

The tall, lank man made no answer. Silently chew- 
ing, he stared at Rodney Bates and Claude Walcott with 
profound interest. 

“Is he hard of hearing?” Claude suggested, as he 
leaped to the ground to stretch his cramped limbs. 

“Nuck. He heerd all right,” Peter answered, climb- 
ing slowly from the seat. “There ain’t nobody else in 


OF THE OZARKS 


13 


town, or he’d of answered. Bud, he don’t never say 
nothing, when they ain’t nothing to say.” 

Bates nodded toward the store, and said cautiously, 
“Let’s have a peep at your terrible Giles Gradley.” 

While he was descending from the wagon, Claude 
stood looking at the motionless girl before the store, 
and beyond her, at the wild and solitary landscape which 
seemed a fit setting for her desolate figure. Beyond the 
rusty wheels and broken-down wagon-beds that were 
strewn on both sides of the road, a hill rose abruptly 
toward the south. The wagon-road they must soon 
take, wound cautiously back and forth across the face 
of its steep ascent, showing like a broad red scar across 
a background of green. 

Far beyond the fringed edge of the hilltop, separated 
from it by fields of rarified air, was to be seen a faint 
blue wavering line like a careless circle drawn around a 
picture of the world. It was one of the ramparts of 
the Ozarks, barely touched into perception by the bril- 
liancy of the setting sun. 

Claude stood gazing at the lofty hill, wondering at 
its slim straight trees with their freedom from brush- 
wood, and at the bold show of massy ledges with their 
black mouths of unexplored caves. He breathed deeply 
of the invigorating air. After cramped city life, his soul 
expanded momentarily. From all about, he derived a 
sense of freedom and of adventure. 

He grasped Bates’ arm, saying, “It means being away 


14 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


from everything and everybody! It’s goodby to collars 
and cuffs and all that they stand for. And while I’m 
camping out this summer, I don’t want to meet a man 
or woman or child; I want to fish and rest up. Of 
course, if we should come across that Beautiful — ” 

Bates broke away, and started toward the store. 
Claude followed, exulting over prospects of a summer’s 
wild liberty which might be terminated or prolonged 
at pleasure; thrilled with a sense of his nearness to the 
charm and mystery of an unknown world ; ready to find 
adventure in the meeting of the first stranger, or romance 
under the first sunbonnet. 


CHAPTER II 


THE GIRL IN THE SUNBONNET 

A S Claude and the expert driller followed Peter 
Poff to the little store, the girl who, up to that 
moment, had shown no sign of life, turned as if 
to depart. The young man looked eagerly to find if 
her face was such as her graceful bearing prompted him 
to hope; but the big sunbonnet was still in the way. 

She had taken but a step when a man appeared in 
the doorway, his face in shadow. She paused, and the 
new-comers were able to catch some of the words tha' 
passed. Her voice sounded in earnest pleading — 

“But he is only a boy — Jim is only a boy.” 

The man in the doorway laughed harshly: “Time will 
cure that.” 

“And he can’t know any better,” she went on with 
her entreaty. “He has never seen any other kind of life. 
His father is bad — bad at heart.” 

The store-keeper’s laughter grew harsher. “So! He’s 
like your own father, hey? Good! Like your own 
father, girl, bad at heart!” 

The young woman — for her voice and speech proved 
her not the child her slight form suggested, clasped her 
hands and uttered a smothered cry. 

15 


16 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


The man’s manner changed. He spoke with cold au- 
thority, but not in anger— -“Go home.” Then to the 
new-comers, he added in the same uninviting voice, 
“Gentlemen, good evening.” 

Peter Poll and Rodney Bates went into the room, and 
Bates introduced himself as the expert driller employed 
by Giles Gradley. 

“I am Giles Gradley,” said the man, giving Bates a 
piercing look from under heavy brows. “You are in 
good time, sir.” 

Claude lingered just outside the door. The quality 
of the girl’s voice, and her evident emotion, moved him 
deeply. He stood watching her dejected figure as it 
slowly passed along the road beyond the blacksmith shop. 
Though young, there was no elasticity of youth in her 
step, no girlhood in the bowed head and listless arms. 
Was she overwhelmed by the taunt of Giles Gradley — 
“Your own father . . . bad at heart!” What 

disgrace rested upon this young woman’s father, that 
the cold-hearted merchant should cast it in her teeth? 
And what was the petition he had so roughly denied? 
When she had vanished among the dwarf pines of the 
hillside, he turned to study the other more attentively. 

Giles Gradley was slightly built, rather below the 
average height. His appearance would have been in- 
significant but for the head, of great size, which, though 
too large for the slender frame, did not strike the ob- 
server as incongruous, because the face challenged atten- 


OF THE OZARKS 


17 


tion with its impress of power and indefinable charm. 
In the beauty of the luminous, speaking eyes a magnetic 
appeal reached from the depths through a careful veil 
of mocking recklessness. The firm mouth concealed be- 
neath its heavy brown mustache a hard line of defiant 
power. The brow was smooth, white, pulsating with 
intelligence, and that suggestion of power was found 
again in the heavy lines of the cheek, especially below 
the eye, and in the set of the jaw. Moreover, there was 
a mysterious hint of an unusual past in the shadowy 
smile which was always mocking, and in the gleam of 
the brown eyes which was sometimes a glare. 

Claude’s conclusion was embodied in a question, un- 
spoken, “What has this man done, to exile himself from 
his kind?” 

Rodney Bates asked himself, “Why has this rascal come 
to the wilderness to hide?” His mind was not com- 
plex, and recollections of the girl’s pleading, and of 
Gradley’s harsh rebuff were enough to furnish him with 
grounds for dislike of his employer. Business details 
respecting future drilling were quickly arranged, then 
Bates wanted to go. 

He refused Gradley’s proffered flask. “My young 
friend doesn’t like the stuff,” he said, waving his hand, 
“and I like it too well.” 

Gradley flushed, and Peter, fearing an outbreak of 
anger, exclaimed, “Gimme mine, Mr. Gradley, I’m al- 
ways agreeable.” 


18 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


Gradley fixed Bates with a stern look. “I suppose 
you heard that girl begging me not to sell any more 
whisky to a boy who happens to be the son of a drunkard. 
But you are a man of the world, doubtless. How can 
one man ruin another? What nonsense! You might 
make me a pauper; you might kill me — bah! that’s noth- 
ing. Ruin comes from disintegration — one falls to bits 
within — that’s how a man’s ruined — from within.” 

“Maybe so,” returned Bates, with something like hos- 
tility, “but I guess other folks can help him along down 
hill.” 

“Good work, then!” said Gradley. “If a man will 
ruin himself, why delay the agony? If the story must 
end bad, one volume’s better than three. The world 
is so crowded with good men that there’s hardly enough 
air for them, as it is; yet they persist in trying to reform 
the weak rascals instead of getting them out of the way — 
fools!” He smiled with exceeding bitterness. 

“Which are the fools?” inquired Claude, interestedly. 

Gradley’s smile deepened to a sneer. “Men are all 
alike. Some are bad for what they get out of being bad ; 
the rest are good for what they get out of being good. 
There’s a door in every man’s soul that opens toward 
hell, — if you could find the key to fit the lock. I know 
men because I know myself. A fool can’t know his 
inner self, and a hypocrite denies his knowledge. I’m 
not a fool, and I won’t lie — that’s a very unusual com- 
bination, you must admit! Well, because I know myself, 


OF THE OZARKS 


19 


I know how any man will laugh if you can find the spot 
that tickles.” 

“Just so,” Bates abruptly interposed. “And I’ll be 
out to your place in the morning; if there’s zinc, or lead, 
or oil, I’ll find it.” 

Gradley who had been greatly moved, doubtless by 
his recent interview with the girl, instantly grew calm. 
“And would you like to stay at my house? We are 
prepared to entertain you there.” 

“Thanks, no. My friend Walcott has brought his 
tent, and as his land is near your place, I’ll just bunk 
with him.” 

“As you please — but you’ll find it more convenient to 
eat with me.” 

He escorted them to the wagon, with no return of 
his strange manner, but when they were in their places, 
he leaped upon his black horse, and shot like an arrow 
into the forest. 

Claude watched him vanish, unconsciously frowning. 
“Who looks after the store while that creature is away?” 
he asked. 

“Oh, the store’s all right,” said Peter, starting up 
his horses. “The fear of Giles Gradley takes care of it.” 


CHAPTER III 


VOICES OF THE FOREST 

L ET’S get out of here as quick as we can,” Rodney 
Bates urged. “I don’t like Ozarka, just because 
Gradley lives in. it.” 

Peter Poff clicked his tongue at the horses. “You’ve 
went and ruffled him, sure enough,” he answered, “but 
I want to say that when you go to work on his place, if 
you’ve got sharp edges, better trim ’em off.” 

As they passed the blacksmith shop, Peter shouted to 
his brother, “Hi, Bud, we’re all coming to the hop 
tomorrow night, the whole ship’s crew of us. Does the 
Little Fiddler know the day and the hour?” 

From the profusion of hair and whiskers which met 
and interlocked, Bud Poff’s eyes shone like red suns. 
He vouchsafed no reply. 

Peter drove on, chuckling. “The Little Fiddler will 
be there, all right, else Bud would of said something.” 

Claude was engrossed with the picturesque beauty of 
the scene. Slowly they wound their way up the road 
that cut across the face of the lofty hill, finding here and 
there, one-room cabins built upon piles with no fence to 
separate the habitations from the wilderness. The dwarf 
pines showed a vivid green above the darker hues of the 
20 



THE YOUNG WOMAN CLASPED HER HANDS AND UTTERED 
A SMOTHERED CRY. — Page ij. 

























































OF THE OZARKS 


21 


post oaks, and as they rose higher and higher, they left 
behind them the gathering shadows, as if pursuing the 
fugitive sun. At the top of the hill they came into the 
yellow light which cast shadows of gigantic size from the 
very weeds. Between them and the blue haze of far- 
away mountain peaks was a sea of clear radiance in which 
the world seemed submerged. 

As they started down the other side of the hill, the 
sun-flash deserted them, and cool shadows came trooping 
up from the valley. Suddenly Bates gave expression to 
what had been brooding in his mind: 

“I can’t account for it. Seems that your Giles Grad- 
ley has stirred up all the evil of my nature. When I 
bored for oil in Pennsylvania and Kansas, I was thrown 
with tough customers; I’ve been a placer-miner out in 
California, and that was no angel’s camp; but somehow 
Giles Gradley doesn’t so much impress me with the 
thought that he is bad, as that I might be, on occasion, 
if, as he puts it, the key were found to unlock my door. 
You know I’m not a moralist. Whenever I find wicked- 
ness, I just go ahead and leave it there. I’m sorry I’m 
to work for a fellow that puts all the teeth of my nature 
on edge. Claude — does he haunt you?” 

Claude reflected. “He’s a very unusual-looking man. 
He treated that girl like a brute, and he sells whisky 
to minors, but he was pleasant enough to us.” 

“It wasn’t about the girl or the whisky,” Bates main- 
tained. “My conscience is as seasoned as anybody’s. No, 


22 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


there’s something about Gradley that makes me think less 
of myself. I can’t shake off his influence.” 

“It’s the darkness that’s creeping about us,” Claude 
suggested. “Poff, you know Gradley pretty well, don’t 
you?” 

“I don’t know him a-tall,” said Peter with a prompti- 
tude that showed him eager to enter the conversation. 
“Nor nobody else don’t, I reckon. I was born and raised 
here abouts, more I couldn’t be; and Giles Gradley was 
never saw in these parts till about five year ago, and 
where he come from, who can tell? You’d have to 
get on the insides of Gradley to know what’s there, and 
he don’t let nobody in. There his mind sits, looking out 
of them big brown eyes, a-hiding secrets and keeping 
guard.” 

“What makes you think he has secrets to guard?” 

“/ don’t know why I think nothing. When thoughts 
takes roots and gets to blossoming in my brain, I never 
digs down to find out why they’s growing. Nothing ain’t 
cultivated about me. Giles Gradley is hiding a secret 
that makes him a misery to hisself and a terror to the 
whole neighborhood. So I think; but I don’t know why 
I think it, and dinged if I keer.” 

“Your brother spoke of a dance,” murmured Claude, 
by way of diversion. 

“They ain’t no company,” Peter persisted, “like a 
feller’s thoughts. But — if I was to take up my stand at 
my mind’s door, and say to every thought that drawed 


OF THE OZARKS 


23 


near, ‘Where did you come from, Sonny? Who was 
your daddy and mammy?’ — pretty soon my brain would 
be as empty as a last-year’s bird’s nest.” 

“Where is that dance to be?” 

“At my brother Bud’s. How’d you like to come? 
He’s due west of your land, and just four mile; you 
couldn’t miss the barn; and if you’re in the neighbor- 
hood at the hour, you’ll sure hear the hollering. You 
hike out there tomorrow night, and if you beat me to the 
joint, tell ’em I give you a ticket.” 

“Thank you. The fact is, I’ve come down here, to 
get away from people and their balls and — society in 
general. Still, by tomorrow night I may be ready to 
vary my solitude. Who is the Little Fiddler?” 

“City man,” said Peter, briefly^. 

The steep descent called for heavy brakes with con- 
sequent hideous nerve-wracking screams so that conversa- 
tion was necessarily suspended. Before they reached the 
bottom of the hill they crossed a foot-trail winding around 
the pyramid of rocks, trees and red earth. 

Claude, eager for every glimpse of his new world, 
examined the narrow path attentively and was suddenly 
startled to find it swarming with mountain-folk, all young 
people, who must have leaped from overhanging cliffs, 
since they could not have risen, as they seemed to rise, 
from the very ground. Their backs were toward the 
wagon, and without looking around, though they must 


24 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


have heard the groaning of the wheels, they darted away 
along the footpath, shouting at the top of their voices — 

“The Green Witch! The Green Witch!” 

“What in the name of all that’s wonderful!” ejacu- 
lated Rodney Bates. “Who is the Green Witch and 
where do you keep her?” 

Peter Poff muttered something fiercely and releasing 
the brakes, let the horses plunge downward. As they 
jolted furiously along, he said audibly, “I don’t know 
nothing of it.” 

“But what could all those boys and girls have meant?” 
demanded Claude. “They seemed to be chasing some- 
thing through the pines. If you have witches in these 
parts, so much the better; they’ve all been expelled from 
my country.” 

Peter did not open his mouth till the valley was reached. 
Then he resumed, as if no interruption had come. 

“The Little Fiddler is as tony as I am un-tony. He 
comes down here, occasional, from Springfield, Missouri, 
and us boys that gets up the hop, chips in to foot the 
bill. There ain’t nobody in the Ozarks can lay over 
the Little Fiddler. He can hold that fiddle behind his 
back and shut his eyes and sorter go to sleep, like — and 
first thing you know, you hear the turkeys a-scratching 
in the straw, or the devil getting out his hornpipe, 
and all creation shutting up house and hitching up their 
canvas- top wagons for to be Arkansaw travelers. That’s 
one thing. But again, when he holds the fiddle to his 


OF THE OZARKS 


25 


chin and humps hisself over it — him propped against it, 
and it propped against the heavenliest music that was ever 
tore from a fiddle’s entrails — well sir, you’d give your 
best span of mules to be a woman, so’s you could just 
sit down and cry. That’s the Little Fiddler. They 
ain’t much meat to his bones, and yet I do say that in 
that there puny body of his’n, there’s enough condensed 
music to make soup for a thousand church-choirs.” 

Claude glanced at his friend, but Bates had not heard 
these enthusiastic words. Usually light-hearted, even 
noisily jolly, the expert driller was now silent, with an 
expression somewhat moody upon his dark face. 

“Bates,” Claude reproached him, “stop brooding over 
that Gradley of the black horse, and hear about our 
musical attractions. Open your eyes — who knows but 
that beautiful wild animal you’ve so often described may 
jump out of the brush just ahead? This is the scene 
of your romance of two years ago. Be alive — and be 
chummy. And don’t let the Green Witch ride into 
your brain on her invisible broomstick!” 

Rodney Bates shook himself. “Don’t know what’s 
come over me,” he growled humorously. “That Gradley 
has set me thinking of all the meanness I ever committed. 
Bah!” Again he relapsed into frowning meditation. 

It was intensely dark when the wagon stopped at the 
confluence of Wolf Branch and Possum Creek. Claude 
recalled the day when, standing before the court house 
steps in St. Louis with the noise of the city ringing in 


26 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


his ears, he had bought these thousand acres for a thou- 
sand dollars. Now that he saw his land for the first 
time, there was nothing to indicate that the foot of man 
had ever disturbed its profound repose. 

A huge bonfire presently distinguished the tall slender 
trees so closely set together that little space was left 
for undergrowth — post oaks, red oaks, blackjacks which 
had waited until high up in the world before reaching 
our ambitious arms. By aid of the roaring flames one 
could look far up the hill, for the smooth slim boles 
seemed to stand aside that the eye might travel at its 
ease ; overhead was an almost unbroken ceiling of green — 
underfoot, a thick mouldy carpet of last year’s leaves 
hid the naked earth. Here and there through the dead 
brown, pushed a tuft of wild grass, or gleamed a patch 
of vivid moss. 

“Glorious!” Claude declared. “I take possession — we 
should have a flag, or a sword, or at least, firecrackers.” 

“If we don’t go to work in a jiffy,” returned Bates, 
“morning will overtake us.” 

Halfway up the hill the tent was pitched upon a 
rounded promontory, that insured safety against down- 
rushing torrents. After the heavy boxes had been ar- 
ranged along the sides, the canvas canoe was unfolded 
and anchored at the margin of Possum Creek which flowed 
at the foot of the hill, thirty steps away. 

As they took their supper from tins, Claude exulted 
in the playing flames, in the dancing shadows. After a 


OF THE OZARKS 


27 


hard year’s battle in the city to save extensive property 
interests which had been seriously threatened, he found 
the darkness, the isolation, and the solemn grandeur of 
the hills as so many assets of his new possession — the 
interest on a good investment. 

“I’m glad I’m here,” he exclaimed expansively, when 
the meal was ended and they were stretching their legs 
before the fire. “It seems to me I’ll never want to go 
back to my bachelor apartments or to the office. If 
there were near relatives to miss me, it would be differ- 
ent, perhaps, but I feel more like a brother to these forest 
trees than to the boys in Kansas City. Why not thrust 
our roots deep into the soil and let storms or birds come? 
Couldn’t you sit here forever watching the flapping of 
the flames?” 

“Nuck,” spoke up Peter Poff, stiffly rising. “I’m so 
sleepy I don’t believe there’s a place flat enough for me 
to lay onto.” He stumbled over to the wagon, wrapped 
himself in a blanket, and sought what flatness there 
might be under the wagon-bed. In the morning, he was 
to drive Bates over to Gradley’s land for he had agreed 
to serve as the driller’s assistant. 

“I guess,” Bates said, at last, “I’ll have to take my 
meals at Gradley’s, but I’ll tramp back here to sleep. 
Seems that the food there would choke a fellow; but I 
know a night under his roof would smother me. I de- 
clare to you, Claude, the impression that man has made 
upon me is positively uncanny. I never realized the 


28 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


possibilities of rascality that have been lurking under my 
skin since I was born! Do you know, I had the idea 
that I was a pretty good chap as chaps go!” 

Claude, not heeding this nonsense, looked from the 
glowing embers to the shadowy shapes beyond the tent, 
and listened musingly to the voices of the forest as they 
mingled with the stamping of the tethered horses, the mur- 
mur of the stream, the crackling of the flames and an 
occasional gasp from the sleeping man. He exclaimed: 

“It’s all one big romance — one stupendous adventure! 
We’ve escaped the taxicabs, the bridges, the elevators, the 
syren whistles and, best of all, the people. The only 
way to find out what stuff is in you, is to be alone. Per- 
haps here in the Ozarks, we’ll discover ourselves.” 

Bates with a last effort to rouse himself, launched 
for the hundredth time into a description of the “Beau- 
tiful Woman” whom he had narrowly missed firing upon, 
during a hunting expedition with some friends from Illi- 
nois, and it was while still sounding her praises in terms 
purposely exaggerated to hide a sincere interest, that 
he went to rest. 

Early the next morning Claude was awakened by 
the sound of stumbling footsteps within the tent, and a 
man’s loud shoutings addressed to the horses. He started 
up in dazed bewilderment at finding himself thus sud- 
denly projected from absolute stillness into the heart of 
turmoil. Rodney Bates was groping here and there, 


OF THE OZARKS 


29 


seeking the lantern; without, Peter Poff was harnessing 
the team. 

Through a lifted flap, Claude saw the first gray light 
stealing its way among the black masses of the forest. 
The air was chill and damp. Over the surface of Possum 
Creek swung a fluttering vapor-curtain, hiding the 
ground-floor of his world. The sun had not risen when 
Bates and Peter Poff drove down stream to the ford. 

Claude Walcott was now indeed alone. With un- 
diminished enjoyment in his new-found liberty, and with 
keen alertness for any adventure, he leaped from his 
cot to face the dawning day. 


CHAPTER IV 


CLAUDE RESCUES THE GIRL IN THE SUNBONNET 

W HEN Claude Walcott left his tent with gun, 
reel, minnow-trap, and book, he had no set- 
tled plan of hunting, fishing, or reading. 
That should be as chance decided, for at last he was 
in a world of freedom. He struck westward through 
the forest until he remembered that only a few miles in 
that direction lay Giles Gradley’s land. As he did not 
want to come upon the scene of Bates’ drilling, but rather 
to lose himself from all haunts of men, he turned south- 
ward. 

Passing among slim post oaks, occasionally brushing 
against rough-barked blackjacks, he felt kinship with the 
little wild creatures that scurried out of his way. The 
boughs were heavy with green-globed walnuts and hickory- 
nuts. Among the leaves of sungold edging, flashed red- 
birds with their impudent inquiry, “What — what — what 
che-e-er?” The business-like call of “Bobolink;” the 
labored, hesitating “Bob-White?” — as if the quail were 
not quite sure about the last name ; the mournful “Who- 
o-o?” of the distant dove who had caught the persistent 
question of the owl and could not rid his mind of it; the 
balanced cadence of the meadow-lark as he skimmed the 
30 


OF THE OZARKS 


31 


air with an eye for open fields — all these, with other 
sounds not so well known, chimed and clashed and quiv- 
ered in broken, happy trills in the wilderness of the 
Ozarks. 

Claude tramped on with no destination in mind, bliss- 
fully certain that his hunting-suit would find no critic 
more severe than a squirrel, more envious than a startled 
fox, or more treacherous than a skulking wolf. He had 
become a wild creature with the wildest of them — wild 
in his resolve to hide from society, to live close to earth, 
trees, and sky. 

When he reached Wolf Branch, he did not set the 
minnow-trap, because a nook overhanging the water — a 
circle of straight oaks inclosing one of those grassy swells 
characteristic of that part of the Plateau, — invited him 
to musing. He threw himself upon the wiregrass and 
opened his volume — a book of poems by an unknown 
author. It seemed fitting that the very books in such a 
place should be by authors who had wandered, little 
noticed, in the world, and who, dying, left no name be- 
hind — only a faint fragrance in written words — words 
which would also presently fade from the brief memory 
of mankind. 

Reared in hotels and apartment-houses, without in- 
fluence of mother or sister, surrounded by the practical 
atmosphere of his father’s real-estate world, Claude had, 
nevertheless, been something of a dreamer. Before his 
death, the rich man of business would have been amazed, 


32 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


and possibly mortified, could he have known with what 
pleasure his son lingered in a literary world of azure 
tints and delicious harmonies, while the real world was 
black and silent after the days rush. 

It was several hours before the book was pocketed and 
stalwart legs resumed their exploration. The stream 
had not long been followed before a prostrate tree offered 
means of crossing. Claude drew off his hunting-boots 
and walked across, pressing his feet flat to the slender 
surface; he was drawing on his boots when he was startled 
by the distant ring of a hammer. At first he was in- 
clined to turn in the opposite direction, but the slender 
tree across the stream was not inviting; besides, it might 
be well enough to find out where people lived, so he could 
avoid them. 

It was not long before he saw a roof above the bushes, 
then another, while beyond them rose a precipitous hill. 
To his surprise, he found himself back at Ozarka. There 
stood the little square store from which Giles Gradley 
with his taunt about her father, had driven the unhappy 
girl of the large sunbonnet. The ring of the hammer 
came from the blacksmith shop. Beyond the broken 
wagons and discarded cart-wheels, rose the road which 
he and Bates had followed in Peter Poff’s wagon. 

On the present occasion, the big black horse of Gradiey’s 
was not the only animal tethered to the trees; several of 
the natives lounged before the smithy, and two were 
drinking at the store. All stared at Claude curiously. 


OF THE OZARKS 


33 


They were tall, lean, and in another setting would 
have appeared awkward and ungainly; but in Ozarka 
their careless bearing had something akin to instinctive 
grace. Their faces were long and narrow, their hair 
was in great profusion and grew at perfect liberty. Those 
who were not drinking, were chewing tobacco, and all 
but two wore whiskers so dense and so untrammeled that 
there could be no question that they had been assumed 
for life. 

The two young men who were clean-shaven, came out 
in the road, while Giles Gradley lingered in the doorway. 

One of them addressed Claude affably — “Hello pard, 
I reckon you’re the new man!-” Every one looked at 
Claude as if wondering if his newness would rub off. 

“To 'this country, I am,” Claude answered, smiling 
good-naturedly. “I’m in a tent over yonder — ” he 
nodded. 

“Oh, yap, we know where you air. Say! There’s 
going to be a hop at Bud Poff’s tonight — ain’t there, 
Bud?” 

Bud, silently chewing, leaned against the worm-eaten 
wall of the shop, hands in pockets. 

The other bronzed, slouched-hatted young man added, 
“And the Little Fiddler’s going to be on deck. Pete 
P off, he says he give you an invite. Now, we want you 
to come!” 

“I think you’ll find me there — thank you. My name’s 
Walcott.” 


34 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


“Air it?” said the young man with much interest, 
while a bushy elder inquired, by way of helping along 
an agreeable conversation — 

“And how old air you?” 

“I can vote,” Claude smiled. 

There was a strained silence while all present pondered 
upon what seemed an inadequate reply. Bud Poff, star- 
ing fixedly at the stranger, seemed to be wondering how 
politics had been dragged in. 

“Which ticket?” inquired Giles Gradley with a mali- 
cious smile, just as one of the men with sudden illumi- 
nation, asked — “Have a chaw?” while his hospitable 
hand invaded the hip-pocket of his jeans. 

Claude ignored Gradley’s question. The silence grew 
so heavy, that the hammering of the smith became a 
shock to strained nerves; but the young man had not 
gone far before he heard behind him the noisy tongues 
which his departure had loosed. 

He skirted the hill, regretful of the effect his presence 
had produced, but more than ever resolved to avoid such 
meetings in the future. As he passed isolated cabins each 
of a single room, the swarming half-clad children stared 
after him with devouring eyes, exclaiming over his dis- 
covery to one another; while young men and women, in 
almost every case bare-footed, stood stolidly at gaze, 
stricken dumb. 

When the last cabin was passed, he plunged into the 
woods with a sense of relief, deeply inhaling the forest- 


OF THE OZARKS 


35 


perfume with its tang of wild pines. The leaves and 
half-buried cones, long dead upon the ground, the aro- 
matic scent of walnut-husks, resin and turpentine, the 
faint scent of wild flowers, the breath from grasses rustling 
along the stream, and the cool moisture from bubbling 
springs, all mingled in one delicious, invigorating odor 
that stirred the blood and gladdened the heart. 

The sun was about to set, but Claude forgetting he 
had eaten nothing since morning; and not thinking of the 
vanished hours, pressed on and on, till he was startled, 
a second time, by a distant, ringing sound; it was not 
now the beat of a hammer, but the chopping blow of an 
ax. As he drew nearer, he could distinguish sounds of 
various woodmen at work, and at last voices came to his 
ears — the voices of perhaps a score of young people, vibrant 
with loud shouts of mocking merriment. 

From among the trees a man was to be seen cutting 
down a tree — a great muscular fellow clad to his waist 
in an undershirt which gaped open from throat to belt, 
leaving exposed the hairy breast. Farther on, several 
other men, similarly attired, and, like him, barefooted, 
were felling trees. A clearing had already been made 
and the trees, lying where they had fallen, formed an 
intricate network with their interlocked branches. 

At one side of this irregular circle, stood the young 
people whose voices had caused Claude’s wonder. They 
were of both sexes, from ten to twenty years of age, bare- 
footed and scantily clad, showing swarthy necks and 


36 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


thick limbs ; all were shouting in derision at a solitary fig- 
ure standing in the very midst of the tangled and prostrate 
trees. 

They were so deeply engrossed with their sport that 
Claude’s approach was unobserved by them, while the 
woodmen, w T ho saw everything, simply opened their 
mouths, as if to stare the better, and continued to swing 
their axes. 

Claude recognized the figure standing in the midst 
of the fallen trees as that of the girl driven by Giles 
Gradley from his store. Evidently afraid of the youths 
who were shouting at her, she stood irresolute, her deli- 
cate form trembling. The enormous sunbonnet still 
shielded her face, and the clumsy shoes, formless dress, 
and shawl with its dull red bars, lent no touch of beauty 
to her appearance. Nevertheless, as on the former occa- 
sion, Claude was struck by the unstudied grace of her 
bearing, while an instinctive sympathy for one against 
whom all the world turns, caused him to pause abruptly. 

“Now, jump!” called one of the oldest and sturdiest 
of the girls, at the same time casting a clod of red earth 
at the solitary figure. “You said you wanted to go home 
— why don’t you go!’' 

She threw a second clod; it struck the victim in the 
back and a shout rose from the others of — “Good shot, 
Lindy Prebby, good shot!” 

The girl was so penned in by the trunks and branches, 
that her only means of escape was to climb over them 


OF THE OZARKS 


37 


toward the spot indicated by Lindy Prebby. She began 
to work her way toward freedom, never turning her face 
in the direction of her tormentors, never uttering a word 
of complaint. 

Her movements were slow. As she drew herself over 
one trunk after another, sometimes crawling upon hands 
and knees, sometimes, where the opening was sufficient, 
slipping through interstices, the crowd watched in gloat- 
ing silence. Once, she tried to leap from one branch to 
another, and, missing her footing, fell heavily, her out- 
stretched arms just catching a bough in time to break 
the force of the fall. Then, indeed, the laughter was 
uproarious. 

Claude presently understood the plot of those who 
were waiting; for when the object of their ridicule had 
almost reached the margin of the clearing, the line of 
young people broke, and those who had composed it, 
rushed around the circle, brandishing long poles. 

“Now climb back again!” shouted Lindy Prebby, shak- 
ing her big stick in the other’s face. “We’ll let you go 
home this time. Jump, I say!” 

And her companions cried derisively, “Jump! Jump! 
Jump!” 

Lindy added, as the girl refused to move, “Cats ought 
to know how to climb. Jump, you cat!” She reached 
for a clod. 

Claude looked to the woodchoppers for interference, 
but they returned his indignant gaze with stolid in- 


38 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


difference. The young man’s blood boiled. Evidently 
the slowness of the girl had been caused by great weari- 
ness. How long had the inhuman sport been in progress ? 
As he stepped forward to interfere, the girl, whose voice 
showed neither anger nor entreaty, said, 

“Let me go. Let me go.” 

“Jump, you ugly witch!” cried Lindy, the leader of 
the crowd, “jump lively, you poisoner, you murderer!” 

At this accusation, Claude hesitated. 

The helpless girl turned, slowly climbed over the near- 
est tree, and stumbled, to the delight of the spectators. 
It was then, as she drew herself upon weary knees, that 
she discovered Claude’s presence. For an amazed moment 
she remained motionless, staring at him as at a visitor 
from some unknown world. The others, observing her 
attitude, looked also, and their voices died away. 

Claude sprang forward. With agile leaps he cleared 
the barricade and was soon at the captive’s side. He had 
seen little of her face, but from under the bonnet he had 
caught sight of a crimson glow on the cheek that spoke, 
no doubt, of shame. Now that he was within reach of 
her hand, he found her panting from exhaustion; her 
limbs were unsteady, her head fallen upon her breast. 

“Have they kept you here a long time?” he asked, 
steadying her arms. 

She said in a low voice, “Very long.” 

“You can go home, now; I’ll see that no one prevents 


OF THE OZARKS 


39 


As if to show her confidence in his power, she made a 
step or two in the direction of the scowling crowd; but 
the tree over which she had just climbed stood in the 
way, and her strength was spent. 

“Please leave me here,” she said, “I shall soon be able 
to climb out.” 

“Leave you? But they would stay, too. No — what- 
ever your offense, you need protection, and I shall protect 
you.” 

“My offense!” she faltered, still hiding her face. 

Claude could not believe that the woodmen would 
have stood looking on passively at her punishment, un- 
less the girl had been guilty of some crime, and the accusa- 
tion of “poisoner” and “murderer” had been sinister, 
indeed. All the same, she was weak and defenseless, and 
he lifted her not ungently over the barrier, and half- 
carried her to freedom. 

“You’re a good one, Mister!” sneered Linda Prebby. 
“Help the murderer, help the poisoner! Help the ugly 
wolf that tries to kill innocent women! Help the cat 
that tries to dabble her paws in blood!” 

Claude turned to the mournful figure to ask, somewhat 
sternly, “Have you nothing to say?” 

“Only that I thank you,” she answered, and then walked 
swiftly down the forest path. 

Claude addressed the crowd with friendly remonstrance. 
“But it wasn’t fair sport, you know. If she’s all you 
say, still — it wasn’t fair sport. Don’t you think she’s 


40 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


had a pretty hard time of it, anyway? Let her go home.” 

There was something in his pleasant face and frank, 
honest eyes that won them from their purpose, so they 
contented themselves with shouting after the retreating 
form — 

“Go on, old poisoner! Good thing for you this gentle- 
man happened along! But we’ll git you next time. 
We’re a-laying for you, you ugly old poison-sneak!” 
Those whose wits were not quick enough to form such 
taunts in words, contented themselves with inarticulate 
hootings until the last glimpse of the accused had dis- 
appeared. 

Then Lindy Prebby turned to Claude with her friend- 
liest smile. “You’re my style, anyhow, Mister, and I 
hope you’ll be to the hop tonight, at Bud Poll’s. We 
can promise you one thing — old bloody-claws won’t be 
on hands.” 

Claude remarked, as he turned to go, that he had been 
invited. 

“Oh, yap, ever’body knows that,” returned the girl, 
heartily. “Now, you come!” 


CHAPTER V 

RODNEY FINDS THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN 

C LAUDE escaped as soon as possible from the 
crowd, and held on his way in the same direc- 
tion he had been following when the wood- 
choppers came in view; but as soon as the hills hid him 
from observation, he hastened off at a tangent, hoping 
to intercept the girl in the sunbonnet, or at least to 
get another glimpse of her. 

His mind was filled with half-formed questions, some 
of which became clearly defined as he groped his way 
through an extensive thicket under tangled branches and 
matted leaves of pawpaws, chincapins, red haws, and 
black haws. Who was this girl that had pleaded with 
Gradiey not to sell liquor to little Jim, and what author- 
ity had he over her that he could order her home? And 
who was her father whom Gradiey had cruelly told her 
was “bad at heart?” She had not resented the accusa- 
tion — it must be that Lindy Prebby had spoken truly in 
calling her a poisoner and in declaring that she had 
tried to commit murder. 

But Claude was more impressed by the fact of the 
girl's unlikeness to her surroundings than by such sus- 
41 


42 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


picions. In sudden anger she might be a violent, even 
a dangerous character; but it was certain that she was 
different from the native girls of the Ozark hills. He 
had heard her speak very few words, but they had been 
enough to distinguish her from the gaping, hooting crowd ; 
and even if he had not heard her remarkably musical and 
tender voice, the poise of her body and the grace of her 
movements despite great weariness, would have set her 
apart. 

Her singularity constituted a real mystery, and the 
young man tramped miles in trying to solve it; but 
though he was sure of the direction she had taken, his 
search was unrewarded. Of course he could find out 
easily enough all he wished to know, if he could bring 
himself to seek information from the girl’s enemies, but 
something held him back from speaking of her to the 
few people he had met. Besides, there would be more 
interest in the affair if he sought and found his own 
clews. 

Weary and half-famished, but comforted by the thought 
that the rest of summer was before him for the quest, he 
reached camp at nightfall, and set about preparing sup- 
per. It was well under way when Rodney Bates came 
over from his first day’s work. 

“Yes, I’ve had supper, “ Bates said, “I take my meals 
at Gradley’s, all of them ; but when I can’t eat any more, 
I enjoy watching other people; it’s one of the few pleas- 
ures of life that don’t wear out, eating is.” He brought 


OF THE OZARKS 


43 


a campchair to the fire, and watched the fish frying over 
the rocks. 

After awhile Claude missed the loud laughter that 
was wont to peal forth when they were together, and 
that drew his attention to his friend’s silent and thought- 
ful attitude. 

“What’s the matter, Rod?- I hope you and Giles 
Gradley haven’t come to blows already?” 

“Oh, as to Gradley,” said Bates, lighting another cigar- 
ette — 

Claude cooked on in silence, no more disposed than 
the other to conversation, his mind continually busy with 
recollections of the girl whom he had that afternoon 
rescued. He saw, as in the very embers of his fire, the 
slight, despondent figure in the shapeless dress which 
could neither hide the thinness, nor the grace, of the 
form. He saw her leaping and climbing, and stumbling 
among the trees, then rising upon her knees, a mourn- 
ful picture certainly, and yet one not to be despised. He 
found himself once more lifting her, carrying her in his 
arms, wishing that he could see better the half-hidden 
face. What a strange creature of the wilderness, to 
be harried like a wild beast by those stalwart bare-limbed 
children of nature! She had not impressed him as vin- 
dictive, as a poisoner should be; or revengeful, as might 
be expected of a murderer. 

• As he ate, he recalled his impression of her face. From 
under the sunbonnet had appeared two bright sparks, and 


44 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


a rosy glow — her eyes and a cheek — that was all. What 
had her steadfast gaze signified? And what, the crim- 
son blush? Her voice sounded pathetically in his mem- 
ory, it was so gentle, so sweet — “Only that I thank you!” 
— he had hardly noticed her tone, at the time. 

Suddenly Rodney Bates, who had smoked several 
cigarettes in quick succession, left his chair to tramp up 
and down impetuously before the campfire. “I say, 
Claude, do you remember my telling you about a camp- 
ing expedition down in this country two years ago when 
I came across — ” 

“Oh, yes, yes, yes, indeed! how you were looking for 
deer and suddenly the bushes parted and a miracle of a 
woman stepped out — ” 

“The most beautiful woman I had ever seen in my 
life!” 

“Just so,” Claude agreed, drily. “Yes, you’ve told 
me all about it.” 

“Well” — Bates flung away his cigarette, and mechani- 
cally fumbled in his case for another — “I’ve met her 
again.” 

Claude, at this unexpected addition to the story, started 
abruptly. “No! Not down here — this time? Here, 
in the wilderness?” 

“Exactly.” 

Claude stared blankly. “Here, after two years? The 
same ‘Beautiful Woman?’ ” 

“Yes, the very same.” 



CLAUDE SPRANG FORWARD AND WAS SOON AT THE 
CAPTIVE’S SIDE . — Page 38. 


.. 






























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OF THE OZARKS 


45 


Claude forgot all about the hunted girl of the big 
sunbonnet. “Well? I venture you don’t find her as 
pretty as you fancied, two years ago.” 

“That’s where you lose your venture. She’s prettier — 
she’s a thousand times more my Beautiful Woman. 
Claude, she’s a marvel — I never saw anything like it — 
the most exquisite form, full and rounded, and the most 
lovely face — ” 

“And here , in these hills?” Claude ejaculated, skeptic- 
ally. 

“Yes, right here. You’ve known me a good while. 
Have you ever known me to be a fool about any woman’s 
looks?” 

“Never but once.” 

“That’s well answered ; for I suppose I’m a fool about 
this one.” 

“My dear old man,” said the other, uneasily, “don’t 
you let yourself be fooled by sentimental coincidences. 
It was natural for you to admire the woman you came 
near shooting; and now that you see her again after 
so long a time, it’s natural for you to look at her as you 
did then. Of course, if it’s a real love-affair,” he added, 
laughing, “you have my congratulations. But don’t de- 
ceive yourself, that’s all I ask. Your eyes are at least 
fifteen years older than mine — hadn’t you better let me 
inspect the lady? I’ll tell you if I find you’ve made no 
mistake.” 

“Certainly you shall judge for yourself, said Bates, 


46 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


trying to speak lightly, but evidently too hard hit to 
disguise his true feeling. “You’re to take supper there, 
tomorrow night.” 

“/ take supper there? Oh, no! Look here, you rascal, 
what are you getting me into ? Did I come to the Ozarks 
to take suppers? No, sir! I’m going to a big dance to- 
night, and I’ll be too tired for any other function so 
soon as the next evening.” 

“That dance is put off till tomorrow night,” Bates 
informed him. “Peter Poff charged me expressly to tell 
you so. You can kill two functions in the same evening. 
I don’t know about the dance, but go to this supper you 
must. I’m determined, for you to see the Beautiful 
Woman, and besides, she wishes it herself; and besides, 
it would have to come around sooner or later, anyhow.” 

“That’s very mysterious. Who is your Beautiful 
Woman?” 

“She’s Giles Gradley’s wife.” 


CHAPTER VI 

THE GIRL AND THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN 

W HEN Claude woke up, the next morning, Rod- 
ney Bates had already gone to breakfast at 
Giles Gradley’s — that brought the disturbing 
remembrance of the invitation to supper. Claude with 
a discontented growl turned over, but in vain — sleep 
now claimed neither side. Before the sun had peered 
over the blue rim of the Ozarks, the young man was clear- 
ing away the cone of dead ashes where had been last night’s 
fire. The air was cool and damp, the rustle of the leaves 
mournful. 

He thought of the bewildering counter-rush of varied 
life-tides through which his motor-car was wont to cut 
its way from his apartment-house to the city office — from 
all this he had fled to the solitudes of the forest * * * 

and see what had come of Rodney’s infatuation for a 
backwoods stranger! 

It was late in the afternon before he grudgingly turned 
his course westward. At last the walking-beam was sil- 
houetted against the sky and a small pyramid of red 
earth and crushed rock told the story of the search for 
47 


48 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


oil. At sight of him, Rodney Bates quickly drew on his 
coat ; his assistant, having none, was spared the exertion. 

“I was afraid you’d be late,” Bates reproached him; 
“it’s about supper-time, now.” 

“After this test of my friendship,” Claude drily re- 
sponded, “I hope you’ll take it for granted and not 
make another assay!” 

Bates laughed heartily at the doleful face. “Bless 
your soul, I had nothing to do with getting you invited 
here, and I’m willing if you never come again — I reckon 
they thought they just naturally had to invite you once.” 

“Don’t forget the dance,” Peter Poff called, as he 
started briskly away. He continued to shout, raising 
his voice as he drew farther and farther till the last words 
became a shout — “The Little Fiddler’s going to be there. 
Ever’ time I meet Bud, I ask him the same question, 
and Bud, he ain’t never said nothing yet, so I know it’s 
all right.” 

As Claude felt himself unequal to the exertion of a ‘ 
response, considering his ill-humor, he contented him- 
self with addressing Bates, as they crossed the road to- 
ward the Gradley home: “I suppose you sit down with 
your Beautiful Woman at every meal?” 

“Yes.” 

“Still think her as fascinating as you fancied two years 
ago?” 

“More so.” 


OF THE OZARKS 


49 


“It’s too bad that you didn’t meet her before Gradley,” 
Claude said, banteringly. 

“Here’s the place,” Bates returned, shortly. They 
had crossed a field salted with stones, to a rail fence 
dividing the scene of the drilling from a hilly meadow- 
land. Along one side straggled a long uneven thatched 
shed about four feet high which was joined to a narrow 
barn. On the roof of the shed, which was perhaps 
forty or fifty feet in length, perched a great many turkeys 
while others carefully balanced themselves upon a fence 
at right angles to the one that had stopped the two 
friends. Still other turkeys were scattered over the 
meadowland, and the full-throated calls of the gobblers 
mingled with the ceaseless complaining cries of the young 
broods. 

Bates said, as he climbed the fence, “They herd these 
turkeys as they do cattle farther north, and walk them 
all the way to Joplin or Springfield to market, camping 
out at night, and taking it slow and easy.” 

Beyond the barn stood Gradley ’s log cabin, the larg- 
est Claude had seen since coming to Ozarka; it boasted 
of two rooms, while back of it was a smaller shanty of 
clapboards, evidently used as a kitchen. 

He murmured, “What style!” 

As Bates did not respond to the pleasantry, Claude 
looked sharply and found the other unusually serious; 
his eyes were fastened upon a hammock swinging between 


50 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


lofty forest trees such as any may afford in his front 
yard, in that country. 

In the hammock lay a woman, her back turned toward 
them, her cheek resting upon an arm, and one hand idly 
swinging; her face was not to be seen, but there was 
something in the languorous ease of her position that 
helped to sooth Claude’s discontent. The plainly defined 
outlines of the figure, the full sweeping curves of health 
and bounty, suggested a luxuriance of growth as of the 
heavy-sweet odors of Florida profusion. The brown of 
the hair was a living, glowing brown, a brown of silken 
sheen, of wavering, alluring lights and changing tints; 
the foot, in its black stocking and buckled slipper, was 
as small and shapely as that of a schoolgirl. 

It occurred to Claude that she must have heard their 
approach and was therefore pretending unconsciousness 
for effect; but when she started up, the suspicion was 
forgotten in studying the woman who had so long haunted 
the prosaic old bachelor. Bates, also, gave all his thoughts 
to the hostess, and could look nowhere but in her direc- 
tion. 

“We do not need to be introduced, I suppose?” said 
Giles Gradley’s wife, to Claude. “In the wilderness, 
there’s no room for conventions.” 

“Oh — this young chap is my friend Walcott. I’d 
forgotten him ” 

Mrs. Gradley laughed — it was as if the breeze had 
caught and borne to them a sudden burst of silvery chimes. 


OF THE OZARKS 


51 


“Are you so very young?” she asked Claude, giving her 
hand. 

Her full lips, full throat, rounded cheeks, dark heavy 
eyebrows, low forehead, in brief, every feature, wrought 
its magic in calming his desire for freedom. With her 
hand in his, he was glad to be there. 

“Of course,” he answered, “I’m not so preposterously 
old a wayfarer as my friend Bates, still, I’m not so young 
as to be altogether ignored.” 

“To be young!” sighed Mrs. Gradley — “to be young 
again !” 

Claude admired her so greatly that he felt a restless 
impulse to crowd Bates out of the conversation into the 
background. Trees and hills and streams and rocky 
ledges had in some mysterious manner lost their appeal. 
The charms of solitude might do for Bates; but Claude 
felt young and strong, quick-blooded and eager; all his 
senses were a-tingle with delight. As each strove to 
gain Mrs. Gradley’s whole attention, the young man 
inwardly excused himself on the ground that, since cir- 
cumstances forced him to an evening in society, he might 
as well get as much pleasure out of it as possible. 

He did get much pleasure; and he could but regret 
the passing moments. He was glad she was Gradley’s 
wife, or, at any rate, somebody’s; as somebody’s wife, 
he mi^ht, without fear of an interest too great, enjoy to 
the full her mellow voice, the radiance of her smile, the 
poetry of her motion. At the same time, she was nearer 


52 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


Bate’s age, and Claude looked upon his friend’s desperate 
attempts to monopolize the lady’s smiles with some- 
thing of uneasiness. Suppose Bates should go too far — 

In the midst of an animated discussion of the relative 
values of city and wilderness life, a shadowy form was 
seen passing from the kitchen to the rear of the cabin. 
Mrs. Gradley called, in a pleasant, even tone — 

“Come here, Servant.” 

A young girl of about eighteen came toward them, her 
head down, her eyes upon the ground. It was the girl 
whom Claude had rescued from the mob of young people 
in the forest. Since she did not once glance in his direc- 
tion, he made no sign of recognition, but his face expressed 
his surprise. 

“Oh,” said Mrs. Gradley, smiling at Claude, “she 
likes for me to call her 'Servant/ the only pleasure she 
has is in waiting on me. Servant, fetch me my black fan, 
and take this one away.” 

The girl obeyed. Claude watched her hurrying over 
the plot of wiregrass, and, on her return, examined the 
face attentively. At another time he might have been 
pleased with her graceful step, but now her body seemed 
insignificant, such features as he could see, appeared 
plain, while the darkness of her skin was much too dark 
— for Mrs. Gradly’s splendid body, ripe features, and 
dazzling complexion entirely eclipsed the young girl. 

“You may stand there, Servant,” said Mrs. Gradley 
gently, as she languidly took the fan and handed the girl 


OF THE OZARKS 


53 


the other. “I know you want me to tell these gentlemen 
your story, but I shall be very brief.” 

The girl gave her a look which neither Claude nor 
Bates could see, then stood with downcast head, her back 
turned toward all three. 

Mrs. Gradley addressed Claude: “It’s such a pity 
that it must be told, but really, it’s necessary so every- 
thing will be clear and open between us, and besides, 
Servant always wants it explained to our guests. She 
feels whenever it is made public that she is atoning, in 
a way, for what she tried to do. But she is a very good 
girl, now. She is sorry, and we have forgiven her — Mr. 
Gradley and I. You will think more of her character 
because she wants her crime published.” 

Claude stared curiously at the girl, who remained as 
motionless as a statue, her face entirely hidden from his 
view. Surely he had never looked upon a picture of such 
abject guilt. As his eyes returned with relief to the 
other’s charming face, and as the silvery voice filled his 
ears, he felt hot shame that he had even remotely fancied 
this creature of the humble garments and abject attitude 
to be above her station. 

“I’ll not go into details,” said Mrs. Gradley, her 
voice trembling as with generous pity. “It’s enough for 
you to know that in a fit of passion — for she is violent, 
sometimes — she tried to kill me. She wants you to know 
that she attempted murder, so you will not look upon her 
as an ordinary child. But she has repented. That will 


54 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


do, poor Servant,” she added, kindly. “Go back to your 
kitchen.” Then to Bates — * 

“She can never forget my generosity in letting her stay, 
and there’s nothing she wouldn’t do for me to prove her 
remorse.” 

The girl hurried away, and Claude saw her form 
quiver convulsively. 

“She is sobbing, poor thing,” murmured Mrs. Gradley. 
“It’s really distressing, but she insists upon this explana- 
tion and what can I do? She will have it. It’s the 
workings of her conscience. We’ll think no more about 
her.” 

Presently a horseman appeared galloping toward them 
— it was Giles Gradley on the powerful black horse. 
Claude was struck anew by the massive head with its 
magnificent impress of power and intelligence, coupled 
with the spare, restless form suggesting physical weak- 
ness. When he was seated beside his wife in the ham- 
mock, after quiet, restrained greetings, the young man 
watched them thoughtfully, seeking for any common 
tie that could bind together two people so seemingly 
unlike. 

Mrs. Gradley asked, “Has it been a hard day with 
you?” in a voice so sweet and tender, so sensitively mod- 
ulated in the pathetic cadences of childhood, that she 
seemed at the moment but a girl, young and artless. 

Giles looked from under brooding brows, answering 


OF THE OZARKS 


55 


in the deep voice one would not have expected from so 
slight a frame, “Every day is a hard day.” 

Her hand slipped impulsively toward his and closed 
upon it, while his own lay motionless in the meshes of 
the hammock. Already he had turned from her, his lips 
pursed in thought, a wrinkle forming across the broad, 
rounded temples. She was perhaps twenty years the 
younger, but her greater height and weight made her 
appear like a guardian angel seeking to protect an unhappy 
mortal from the punishment of his imaginings, as her 
glorious brown hair was lifted above his darkening face. 

“Dear, I wish you would give up that store,” Mrs. 
Gradley said, with girlish plaintiveness. “Mr. Prebby 
wants to buy it.” 

“Give it up!” he returned, harshly. “Give it up? 
And must I give up everything, then?” He drew his 
hand from hers, though the movement appeared uncon- 
scious. “It seems to me I have given up quite enough.” 

Mrs. Gradley paled, slightly. She sighed. 

Gradley shook back his long hair which had fallen over 
the high forehead. “What do you think of the prospect?” 
he asked Bates, abruptly. 

Bates nodded, unresponsively. “Fm coming on.” He 
had seen that slender white hand cast carelessly aside, 
and for such a slight, would have been content to deal 
Gradley a sturdy blow. 

Gradley struggled to his feet, not without effort,* then 
leaned upon the rope which his wife s body held taut. 


56 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


He addressed both men in a rapid voice, in which sounded 
fierce discontent: 

“This wilderness life is maddening — maddening! 
Nothing to distract the attention — nothing to banish 
cursed thoughts — nothing but trivialities. What mat- 
ters, out here? Trees put on leaves and put them off. 
Birds build and disperse — what’s the use of an intellect? 
If it wasn’t for that store, that dull, sordid, mean store, 
with its bargainings and its loafers — I’d go crazy. But 
can I exchange ideas with people who have none? This 
drilling will be another interest — heaven knows I need 
one! Whether there’s oil or ore, there’ll be the drilling. 
I can ride back and forth — bah! No wonder, is it, that 
every day is a hard day! You fellows haven’t had to 
live on this, year in and year out — you taste of it, then 
go your way. If I could train my mind not to think, 
I might vegetate comfortably.” 

Bates shrugged his burly shoulders. Gradley, he could 
not endure, but for the wife’s sake, he must be patient. 
He asked her — “Do you share Mr. Gradley’s hatred of 
the Ozarks?” 

“I ?” she returned, looking at Bates with parted lips. 
“But it is nothing to me where I live. Life is all in 
the heart; what does the place matter?” 

“I agree with you,” said Bates, not without some 
antagonism in his manner, directed, in spite of himself, 
against Gradley. “The place is just the setting. Yes, 
we live in the heart. I could be happy here forever.” 


OF THE OZARKS 


57 


Gradley looked thoughtfully from one to the other. 
Then he began to laugh quietly. He turned to Claude 
and said, 

“We are very spirtual — it is all soul, here!” 

At that moment the shrinking form of the young girl 
came from around the cabin, to announce supper. 

“Very well, Norris,” said Gradley, kindly. It did not 
escape Claude’s attention that his host’s gentlest tone had 
been for the girl, and that, instead of addressing her 
after his wife’s manner, he had called her by her name. 


CHAPTER VII 


THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN AT HOME 

T HE table was spread in the front room ; on one side 
was a piano, on the other, a bookcase. When 
they were seated at the simple meal, Giles Grad- 
ley asked Claude where he lived. 

“At present,” Claude smiled, “I’m enjoying my estate 
on Possum Creek; but my home address is Kansas City.” 

“Kansas City!” Gradley’s splendid eyes flashed. 
“Have you lived there long? Do you know any of the 
politicians?” 

Gradley immediately plunged into a sea of questions 
regarding men of prominence. “I never see a newspaper 
— they disquiet me, fill me with longings — I resist their 
temptation — they call, call . . . ” He knew all the 

gang-leaders; the ward bosses, such as they were some 
years ago; the minutiae of civic affairs; the names, even 
ages, of the voters of different parties. 

Claude, trying to remember if he had ever heard the 
name Giles Gradley, remarked, “You know much more 
about Kansas City than I, only your information isn’t 
quite up to date. How long has it been — ” 

“I’d rather not remember,” Gradley said, abruptly, 

58 r . 


OF THE OZARKS 


59 


This conversation, animated on Gradley’s part, lasted 
long past supper, but as his wife took no part in it, she 
was left in a manner alone with Rodney Bates. 

Nothing could have suited Bates better. She had un- 
erringly gauged his simple and rather superficial nature, 
and she appealed to it in a spirit of frank gaiety. At his 
jokes she laughed without restraint, and her own anec- 
dotes were imparted confidentially as to an old friend, 
thus setting him entirely at ease. 

At this rate, Claude reflected, his old friend and the 
Beautiful Woman would get on with phenomenal swift- 
ness. 

In the meantime, the girl who had announced supper 
came and went and came again, on menial services. She 
had cooked the meal in the detached kitchen and every- 
thing had to be carried to and from the cabin. When 
they rose from the table and retired to the end of the 
room that contained the piano, as if withdrawing to 
another apartment, the girl cleared away the dishes, 
removed the cloth, and converted the table to a discreet 
desk. No one paid her any attention. 

To Claude, she was an unobtrusive shadow, flitting 
occasionally across a scene of brightness as if to suggest 
unseen clouds. Her cheap dress of an ugly blue shade 
was patched to betray her poverty ; and her hair was 
cropped close to her head as if the very luxury of long 
hair which might have been pretty, could not be indulged, 
since the rest of her appearance was so subdued in tone. 


60 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


When she had made her last disappearance, Claude 
grew restive under Gradley’s questionings. He wished 
to forget the city and its political intrigues, and he felt 
it hard that his host should seek so determinedly to dispel 
the atmosphere of the wilderness. 

He heard Mrs. Gradley singing for Bates — little songs 
that were lively and swinging — the popular ragtime airs 
of five or six years ago. Gradley raised his voice to be 
heard above the singing, but the young man heard rather 
the sweet melody that was charming his old friend, and 
saw not Gradley’s earnest eyes, but the lustrous brown 
coils of hair over which Bates was bending low. 

At last Gradley asked no more questions. As if the 
news given by Claude, had conjured up pictures of days 
dead and imperfectly buried, a sudden despondency 
chilled his manner, and the leaping fires of his eloquent 
eyes died down to somber coals; the large, thin-lipped 
mouth grew tight and the massive head leaned forward 
in dark thought. 

Claude asked himself, “Why does he live here in the 
forest, since he is so in love with public affairs?” 

That was, in truth a mystery; but a mystery much 
more appealing was that of Mrs. Gradley’s charm, and, 
the young man at last finding himself at liberty, hastened 
to draw near. 

Bates said abruptly, “Claude — time for us to go.” His 
desire to absorb all of the lady’s society was transparent. 



IT WAS THE GIRL WHOM CLAUDE HAD RESCUED FROM 
THE MOB.”— Page 52. 




















































































































































OF THE OZARKS 


61 


Claude smiled: “Yes — I’m afraid I’ve tired out Mr. 
Gradley.” 

Giles Gradley gave no sign that he heard. With eyes 
upon the floor, his brow looked dark and almost threaten- 
ing, as if strange ghosts were flocking to the chambers 
of his mind. , 

“Come!” said Bates. But when he looked at Mrs. 
Gradley, he found himself unable to budge. 

“I will sing for you,” Mrs. Gradley told Claude — 
“something different — I imagine you don’t care for what 
Mr. Bates and I like.” Then she gave him a little classic, 
and Claude listened, warmed to the heart by her delicate 
compliment. She understood him, just as she understood 
’Bates. It was a marvellous experience to both, to be 
understood by one so lovely. 

When she had finished, the young man looked into her 
eyes with a quick breath — “You do indeed understand 
what I like!” 

“Now me,” observed Bates, jealously, “I like a tune 
you can take hold of with both hands. I’ve sat through 
whole operas thinking all the time something sort of 
human was coming my way; but it always turned the 
corner and got lost before it reached me.” 

She laughed charmingly, while Claude said, 

“Mrs. Gradley, that voice shouldn’t be hidden down 
here among the forest trees.” 

Giles Gradley rose, with an inscrutible smile: “Is 
her voice sweeter than that of the birds? What a pity 


62 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


that the birds are hidden down here among the post oaks 
and chincapins!” 

She laughed and laid her hand upon her husband’s 
arm. They made a handsome picture; on her part, per- 
fection of form, magnetic beauty of face — on his, rug- 
gedness of power and intellect. 

With that picture stamped upon their minds, Bates and 
Claude left the cabin. 

As they passed the barn on their return tramp, the 
twinkle of a candle showed through a crevice in the loft. 

“I suppose,” Claude observed, “that the servant stays 
up there.” 

But Bates could think of only one subject; “Claude, 
that’s the woman !” 

“Gradley’s wife?” 

“Call her that if you choose. It doesn’t change her. 
Did you see the brute throw her hand from him, as they 
sat in the hammock? Did you hear him complain that 
he hasn’t enough interests down here? Did you notice 
how homesick he is for the city? Great heavens! And 
with a wife like that !” 

On they went through the thick w T oods. The moon 
rose and etherialized the red earth. As they came in 
sight of their tent, the stream was shimmering in its 
bright rays. The night-breath of wild weeds moistened 
by early dew, swept over their faces. 

Bates built a fire in silence, not uttering a word till 
Claude remarked irrelevantly, 


OF THE OZARKS 


63 


“She seems happy enough — and actually fond of 
that — ” 

“Just her woman’s pride, hiding her woman’s heart.” 
Bates spoke so promptly that Claude knew their thoughts 
had been travelling the same road. 

“We may conclude, then,” said the young man slowly, 
“that both of them are unhappy.” 

“He doesn’t count.” 

“Neither does she — so far as we are concerned.” 

“I know this,” violently, “that if — if she — ” He 
paused. 

Claude looked at him curiously. Then he hazarded, 
“There can be no such 'If/ old fellow.” 

“I can wait and see.” 

“Bates,” said Claude presently, “yonder canoe is 
tempting me to a moonlight ride. And it’s plain enough 
that you are not inclined to conversation — ” 

“Do go, Claude, that’s a dear soul!” cried out Bates 
so heartily, that both of them laughed. 

Claude added, “And, more than likely, I’ll wind up 
by dropping in at Bud Poff’s dance — so it may be a long 
time before I turn in.” 

“I hope it will be long!” Bates declared frankly. “In 
fact, I have a great deal to think over.” 

“It would be better for you to come with me, and do 
no thinking at all.” 

“Perhaps so; but Fve ceased wanting to do what’s 
better for me. So long, old chap! I’m fairly aching to 
hear the dip of your oars.” 


CHAPTER VIII 


THE GIRL SAVES CLAUDE FROM THE PIT 

A S Claude dipped the oars in the crystal clear 
water, sending strings of pearls glittering away be- 
neath the moonlight, he was troubled about his 
friend. Without anticipating any untoward event to mar 
the outward prospects of his hunting vacation, he realized 
that Rodney Bates at the age of forty, was for the first time 
in his life, seriously interested in a woman; and that for 
two years he had dreamed about her, had expatiated 
upon her loveliness and had suffered himself perfect 
liberty in dwelling upon the recollection of her charms, 
before the discovery that she was Giles Gradley’s wife. 

It was no wonder that the simple-souled Bates had 
been susceptible to the exquisite loveliness of that full- 
blooded, Oriental type. Claude himself had tingled with 
sheer pleasure when in her presence; and now that he 
was alone, he still found himself under her haunting 
influence. It was impossible to escape the mellow voice, 
the sparkling glances, the dazzling whiteness of skin, 
the contour of rich and warm womanliness. 

He seemed pursued not by memories, but by the visible 
woman, as if her spirit were materialized in stream and 
woods. She was another man’s wife, hence Claude felt 
64 


OF THE OZARKS 


65 


himself safe; but what about Bates? And when Claude 
placed before him the attractions that were luring his 
friend, he fell into a deep study over those attractions, 
and forgot Bates in the contemplation. 

When he had ascended the stream as far as his boat 
would go, he struck along the trail that led toward 
Ozarka, his mind still filled with pictures of the Beautiful 
Woman. 

Under the bright moon, a desolate scene was pre- 
sented by the closed store of Giles Gradley, and the 
rickety blacksmith shop with its gaping black wounds 
where the sword of time had cleaved away the clapboards. 
The silent road with its litter of broken wheels and 
scattered rusty horseshoes seemed lonelier than the un- 
trodden mosslands of the virgin wilderness. As he 
skirted the hill beyond Ozarka, he noticed the desertion 
of the cabins. Had all gone to the dance? 

The trail led him to the scene of the woodchopping 
where he had rescued the tormented girl — Mrs. Grad- 
ley’s “Servant.” He dismissed the young woman from his 
mind impatiently, conscious that she had more than once 
risen before his mental vision, against his will. Had she 
really tried to poison Mrs. Gradley? Then why did 
Mrs. Gradley still trust her with the food? No wonder 
she had been ashamed to raise her eyes, no wonder she 
had not dared to defend herself against her tormentors! 

Beyond the clearing, there was a swift, shallow stream 
which he followed to the foot of a towering hill, the hill 


66 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


must be climbed or circled, for not far beyond it was 
Bud Poll’s cabin. 

Claude hesitated. 

He had never penetrated this part of the country, but 
the hill before him with its huge overhanging masses of 
rock, its bareness of grass, and its few scattered trees, 
answered Peter Poll’s description of Baldhead Mountain. 
The stream issued from a spot about a third of the dis- 
tance up the almost sheer face of the rock. It was one of 
those enormous springs which suddenly appear in the 
Ozarks and start forth in the world as a full-sized stream, 
large enough at the very beginning to float a light boat. 

This ice-cold fountain was called “Cave Spring.” 

Claude decided to scale the precipitous heights rather 
than lose time and labor by going a mile or so out of 
his way. When he presently found himself, almost 
breathless, at the source of the spring, he greatly admired 
the opening in the hillside which was in the form of a 
stone arch, wonderfully symmetrical. This bow of stone, 
which at the middle was perhaps fifteen feet high, opened 
into a chamber large enough to accommodate a numerous 
company, and, indeed, a huge granite block — a natural 
table, at one side — showed where many a picnic party 
had spent their dinner-hour. 

More than by the regularity of the arch, which sug- 
gested the chiselling of a giant’s hand, and more than 
by the overhanging masses of rock which seemed threaten- 
ing every moment to fall and block up the entrance to 


OF THE OZARKS 


67 


the cave, Claude was struck by the cold breath of the 
stone chamber. It breathed out into the night an air 
so different from the surrounding atmosphere, that the 
young man had stood before it only a few moments before 
he felt himself shivering as if just emerging from a warm 
room, upon a wintry scene. 

His climb up the steeps along the bank of the sudden 
stream had without doubt heated his blood; and yet, at 
any time, he would have found the breath from the cavern 
at startling variance with the temperature of a sum- 
mer night. The moonlight was so brilliant along the 
shelf that supported his feet, that it caused the interior 
of the subterranean retreat to appear almost black. 

In order to examine it more closely, Claude stepped 
within, descending three or four feet to the level floor. 

The room contained nothing but the natural table, 
and broken bits of rock ; but at the side opposite the great 
opening, there was a space of a few inches between the 
wall and floor; this crevice extended the width of the 
chamber — about twenty feet; and through the narrow 
aperture poured a sheet of water — in short, the spring. 
After rippling over the floor several feet, it disappeared, 
to reappear outside the cave. 

For a while, Claude forgot the magic charm which Mrs. 
Gradley had cast upon him; but as he grew colder and 
colder, he obeyed the impulse to escape into the open 
and balmy air of less inspiring but more comfortable 


68 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


nature. He accordingly hurried out of the cave, and 
climbed the difficult trail to the top of the hill. 

Here he found himself upon a plateau which descended 
by such insensible degrees that on the side toward Bud 
Poff’s it seemed no hill at all; and had he not just 
ascended from the valley, he might have supposed him- 
self upon fairly level ground. His exercise had already 
driven away the sense of chill, and his recollection of the 
dance caused him to quicken his pace with a real desire 
to find himself with men and women, that he might en- 
tirely dismiss the sinister and oppressive influence of the 
cave. 

He was almost running from the brow of the hill 
over the loose stones, when a voice called in quick alarm, 
“Take care!” 

Claude stopped so suddenly that he was thrown upon 
his knees. The unexpectedness of any human voice had 
caused him to look not for the voice, but at the ground 
before him. He crouched at the edge of a round hole, 
not more than three feet in diameter into which he must 
have fallen headlong but for the warning cry. 

There was nothing to warn a stranger of the existence 
of this opening in the earth, this round, rock-rimmed 
circle with its circumference of silver and its heart of 
black — for though the moon was pouring into it a wealth 
of light, only darkness was painted within. 

As the young man leaned over the unknown depths, 
he could feel the air being sucked in, as if the hole were 


OF THE OZARKS 


69 


a great mouth feeding a monster’s palpitating lungs; and 
he was very sensible of the indrawing force that caught 
at his face and hands. 

He drew back with a shudder, and leaped to his feet. 

The shout, the fall, the escape had taken but a moment, 
and even as Claude rose, he was examining the bushes 
whence the voice had issued. All had passed with such 
rapidity that the one who had called the warning had 
been unable to withdraw. A face looked from the bushes 
— a dark, young face, delicate, and yet firm. Its expres- 
sion was that of intense relief. In the eyes was a glow, 
on the cheeks a color; the lips were parted as if they 
had been drawn in terror, and in relaxation were about 
to smile. Though it was the face of a woman, the hair 
was cut close — dark, fine hair on which the light rested 
lovingly. 

Claude had scarcely discovered this watching face 
before it vanished; but he was sure he had been saved 
by the girl whom he had delivered from cruel mockery. 
It was very strange that she should be so far from home 
at an hour so late. Was she alone? 

The young man called to her, and started toward the 
bushes. 

He expected either to see her come forth, or to hear 
her retreat through the undergrowth. In both, he was 
disappointed. When he reached the spot, there was 
nothing to indicate that anyone had been there before 
him. He called several times, he searched the thickets, 


70 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


but all in vain. The little wild creature knew the wilder- 
ness so well that she was entirely safe from pursuit. 

This reflection calmed Claude; since safe from him, 
she must be safe from others. The next time he was at 
Gradley’s, he would find occasion to thank the servant 
for her warning. 

The next time he was at the Gradley’s? Oh, yes, 
indeed, he expected to be there pretty often, after tonight. 
Rodney Bates sat down to the Gradley table thrice a day 
— he ought to be allowed to call there at least once. 


CHAPTER IX 


CLAUDE GOES TO THE DANCE 

I T spoke well for Mrs. Gradley’s influence that by 
the time Claude reached Bud Poll’s rail fence, not 
only the “servant,” but the narrow escape was forgot- 
ten, and he was thinking of exquisite curves and deli- 
ciously modulated tones, and heart-stirring glances, and 
above all, of the real necessity of making a “party call” 
after his dinner. 

Along the fence were fastened many horses, to some of 
which carts were attached, but the greater number of the 
guests had walked, having donned their shoes for that 
purpose. Indeed, the company was rather elaborate in 
their attire. While the young men had not gone the tor- 
menting length of wearing coats, they had, as it were, 
coralled their usually free necks in high fences of spotless 
linen, and their words and looks had the distinct effect 
of being cast over the collar. Bronzed, loose-jointed and 
rude of speech, they spread abroad an air of genial hearti- 
ness which included Claude without reserve. 

The maidens not only wore bright-colored ribbons and 
gaudy-hued skirts, but had even put on their shoes and 
stockings; yet so far from being made stiff and artificial 
71 


72 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


by these unwanted elegancies, they proved themselves the 
souls of noisy good humor and giggling comradeship. The 
dancing was in the barn. The stamping of heavy feet 
and the shout of untrammelled laughter would have put 
any ordinary number of horses out of the contest. 

All were disposed to treat Claude well — too well, 
indeed, for they felt him to be an outsider, and among 
themselves they called him “Boston,” — such being their 
symbol to express all that is useless in the ornamentation 
of mind and manners. He was content to remain an out- 
sider, since this, after all, was his real attitude, and as 
an outsider, he was particularly interested in the Little 
Fiddler. 

The musician was slightly built, apparently quite 
young, and certainly diffident. He wore a suit of decent 
black, oddly out of keeping with those for whom he 
played, yet in itself nothing noticeable. It seemed that 
the dancers looked upon him with awe which, however, 
did not silence their expressions of admiration — ejacula- 
tions of praise offered to each other rather than to the 
player. 

The Little Fiddler stood upon an inverted wagon-bed 
at the extreme end of the barn, and, because he kept his 
cheek against the violin and bent over it as he played, 
his features were not discernible. Moreover, the slouched 
hat which he never laid aside, darkened his face still 
more. Claude was convinced that the retired platform 
upon which the lanterns, swinging from dusty beams, 


OF THE OZARKS 


73 


cast very little light, had been chosen from a desire to 
escape attention. Doubtless, he thought, this is a music- 
teacher from the city who would not care to have his 
city friends know of such relaxations. 

As Claude stood on the outskirts, amused occasionally 
by exceedingly broad-pointed witticisms bandied about 
indiscriminatingly, a heavy hand fell upon his shoulder. 

“What do you think of the Little Fiddler?” asked 
Peter Poff, beaming through his whiskers. 

“His playing acts upon every nerve in my legs,” Claude 
laughed. 

“Want to dance?” Peter inquired, hospitably. ‘Til 
round up one of the buxomest lasses on the floor for you 
— yonder’s Lindy Prebby.” Peter drew forth his plug 
of tobacco and took a fresh chew. Thanks to the crevices 
in the barn-floor, there was no handicap in its enjoyment. 

“Oh, no, much obliged,” said Claude hastily, as, at 
that moment, Lindy Prebby slipped and sat down very 
suddenly and as hard as only a buxom lass can, amidst 
deafening roars of hilarity. 

“That’s what I call a gal ? remarked Peter, nodding 
at Lindy wh'o remained seated several moments, laughing 
boisterously at her own discomfiture. “She was telling 
me how you helped Norris that her and her pards was 
harrering amongst them, in the woods. That so?” 

Claude bethought him. “Yes,” he said, “her name is 
Norris, sure enough — I heard Giles Gradley call her so. 
Well — it was twenty against one.” 


74 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


“I’m glad you done it,” emphatically. “Let people say 
what they will, for me, I believe her a good gal and no 
mistake.” 

Claude thought of the face in the bushes. “And yet — 
they accused her of trying to commit murder.” 

“Oh, yap, I know. It’s a shame the way the young 
’uns devil the life out of that kid when they catch her 
anywheres alone.” 

Claude looked about with sudden interest. “Will she 
be here, tonight?” 

“Who — Norris f Peter Poff tested the narrowest 
crack in the floor within possible range. “Not much she 
won’t!” 

The Little Fiddler shook out a cascade of silvery notes, 
and youths and maidens leaped in the joy of life. “I 
didn’t know — I saw her on my way here.” 

Peter suddenly stopped chewing. “No! But did you? 
Where?” 

Claude told about his narrow escape. 

“I ought to of told you about Mad Man’s Pit,” ex- 
claimed Peter, remorsefully. “Good thing somebody seed 
you and yelled out — couldn’t have been Norris, though.” 

“It was the girl Mrs. Gradley calls ‘Servant,’ of that 
I am sure.” 

“Whoever it was, good thing you didn’t fall into that 
hole. Did you come up by Cave Spring? See where the 
water comes out of the rock?” 


OF THE OZARKS 


75 


“Yes — and the air is as cold as Christmas, in that big 
room.” 

“Well sir, that hole that you about fell into, it goes 
down into the earth, and leads into that big room, or it 
did before we stopped up the opening. Yes-sir-ee! There 
was a man once, name of Woolcoat — I don’t know if 
he’s kin to you or not — ” 

“I am Claude Walcott.” 

“You might of been Woolcoat a hundred years back, 
no knowing. Take Poff. Do you think my line was 
always called Poff? Don’t seem in nature. But this 
here Woolcoat, he fell into the hole, which it is so steep, 
he couldn’t stop hisself, I reckon, though some do say, 
he went in a-purpose to explore what had never been 
explored aforetime. Tenny-rate, they was people stand- 
ing about when he went in. So they dove down the hill 
to Cave Spring for to see if he ever come out. They 
waited and waited j and after so long a time how long, 
don’t ask me — he comes crawling out at the corner of 
that there narrow slit in the rock which it was big enough, 
them days, for him to get through. He come out with 
hisself soaked in that freezing water— and he was stark 
ma d— never knowed nothing afterwards. So they calls 
it Mad Man’s Pit. Then the neighborhood went and 
hefted a big rock for to stop up where he come out, and 
now if you was to fall into the pit, in there you’d stay.” 

“But you have wandered from the subject, Peter. 


76 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


“Like enough. I ain’t never been taught books, nor 
subjects — ” 

“It was about Norris. I am sure it was she who called 
to me.” 

“You wouldn’t know her again, I guess.” 

“I saw her at Gradley’s; and while she wasn’t intro- 
duced—” 

“Has brother Bud saw you here?” 

“I’m sure he has, but he hasn’t spoken to me.” 

“He’d have said something if you wasn’t welcome, 
don’t you fret about that ! As long as he keeps still, every- 
thing’s O. K. Now me, I am not like Bud, I enjoy 
speaking my thoughts, the more the merrier. Not that 
them thoughts is trained or pruned, for I am in a state of 
nature, I never having been to school but a very few 
days, and the more reproach to my pa and ma, say I, for 
they should have catched me up, and curried and rubbed 
me down, and drug me to my books.” 

At this moment an interruption came in the generous 
form of Lindy Prebby inviting Claude to lead her out 
upon the floor. He robbed his refusal of all sting by tell- 
ing her how narrowly he had missed falling into the 
fatal pit; but remembering Lindy Prebby’s hatred of the 
“little cat” he did not refer to the girl who had saved 
his life. 

Lindy, meaning to be friendly, lingered with her open 
smile. “You better be keerful how you streak about in 



THE LITTLE FIDDLER STOOD UPON AN INVERTED 
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OF THE OZARKS 


77 


these parts by yourself, of nights,” she laughed, “or the 
Green Witch’ll git you shore!” 

At sound of that mysterious name, Claude was suddenly 
all attention, and plied her with the questions he had 
found unavailing when addressed to Peter. 

Lindy shook her head doubtfully. “Nobody don’t know 
who the Green Witch is, or where her hole in the rocks 
is hid, but some of us have saw her, me for one. She just 
flits around. Time outer mind we’ve tried to ketch up 
with her, and our pains for nothing. Never mind — just 
let me lay hands on her once, I guess she’ll not haunt 
the hills no more!” 

“What sort of looking creature is she?” 

“She don’t dress in nothing but green leaves, setting 
herself up to be an Adam and Eve, I reckon. It ain’t to 
the credit of Ozarka to have a mystery-woman living in 
the land for to haunt it, only seen of nights and vanishing 
like a ghost, green leaves and all.” She shook her head 
emphatically: “Wait till I ketch up with her,” she cried, 
as she went back to join her friends. 

“What do you think of all that, Peter?” demanded 
Claude. 

“Well sir, I don’t set much store on any man’s thoughts 
regarding sperrits. Thoughts ain’t of no value except as 
measured by what they’re sot on. If Solomon had sat 
hisself down to meditate on a weasel, it would have been 
naught but a weasel for all his cogitating. Likewise as 
to witches which is of another age and time. These chil- 


78 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


dren imagines sounds and waving bushes is something 
living and palpable and they names it Green Witch and 
then goes about chasing their own fancies. Lord! when 
I make an idol out of my own brain, I know where it 
wa9 whittled; let others fall down and worship it — but 
I got to have a religion that mystifies me, it being none 
of my own making. Wasn’t we discoursing some sense 
before we taken up with this subject of Lindy Prebby’s?” 

“We were speaking of Norris — is she an orphan?” 

“Not on one side of her house. Ain’t Gradley her own 
pa?” 

“Giles Gradley? Impossible!” 

“Huh! Nothing ain’t impossible with Giles Gradley.” 

Suddenly Claude’s face burned. “Look here, Peter,” 
he said with a curious sternness, “are you in earnest about 
that?” 

“I’m in something,” Peter responded, “and I reckon it’s 
earnest. I tell you — but I thought you knowed it — Norris 
Gradley is Giles Gradley’s darter.” 

“Then Mrs. Gradley is — is — ?” 

“Yap,” Peter’s jaws worked rapidly. 

“She is Norris’s step-mother?” 

“She’s something Peter allowed. 

“Is she Gradley’s second wife?” 

“Don’t ask me how many wives Gradley’s had.” 

Claude s heart throbbed tumultuously. “They accused 
Norris of trying to commit murder!” 

“Mrs. Gradley spread it all over the neighborhood.” 


OF THE OZARKS 


79 


“Does she say that Norris tried to poison her?” 

“Yap.” 

“Then — ” Claude stared blankly at the other. The car- 
ressing smile of the Beautiful Woman, and the dark 
watchful face of the girl on the mountainside, rose before 
him simultaneously. 

“I know Norris,” Peter declared, “as good and sweet 
and innocent a gal as ever come to this quarter-section.” 

“But see how the young people feel about her!” 

“Just because she’s different. She won’t run or mix 
with them, and they don’t know what it is in her that’s 
the matter. The world always wants to kill anybody 
that’s different. It makes folks feel more comfortable 
to be all alike.” 

“But Mrs. Gradley— 

“When she give out that lie about the poison, every- 
body wanted to believe it, so they believed it, Giles too, 
and he made Norris move to the barn, because he wanted 
to believe his wife. Since they treat her like a slave at 
home, of course she’s treated like a wild animal when she 
gets out.” 

“Why do you call it a lie, when her own father believes 
it?” 

“Her own father! And what’s he? I tell you, it’s one 
of my thoughts and you can do with it what you please, 
that a feller believes what he wants to believe.” 

“I know Mrs. Gradley,” Claude hotly exclaimed, “and 


80 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


your suspicion does her a monstrous injustice. You make 
her out to be a — a villain.” 

“I don’t make her out to be nothing. I don’t speak 
words against no woman. But I believe Norris, and I 
know she’s innocent. And if you’re right in thinking she 
saved your life tonight, it don’t come suitable from you to 
make her out a poisoner of people’s victuals. I got nothing 
to say of Mrs. Gradley. I leave her where I find her, and 
there may she lie unmolested of me. But you done a kind 
act to Norris that day of the woodchopping and for my 
part, I thank you.” 

To the young man’s memory stole the childlike plain- 
tiveness of Mrs. Gradley’s voice, the delicate perfume of 
her luminous brown hair, the subtle appeal of her ripened 
charms. 

“It is altogether impossible,” he exclaimed, turning 
away. 


CHAPTER X 


THE STORM 

C LAUDE excused himself from the supper spread 
in bountiful profusion in a corner of Bud Poff’s 
barn, and set out on his return tramp, much dis- 
quieted. The music of the Little Fiddler, gay and rollick- 
ing, pursued him, without relieving the mood induced by 
Peter’s information. 

He might have known, he told himself, from the dis- 
parity of their ages, that Mrs. Gradley was Giles’s second 
wife, and his conduct in the hammock and in the cabin, 
suggesting an emotive nature deadened and forgotten, 
bore out the supposition. And now it appeared that if 
the step-daughter had not tried to poison Mrs Gradley, 
then the step-mother was the crudest of women. It was 
impossible to exonerate one without bitterly condemning 
the other. 

During the long moonlight walk back to camp, a walk 
which skirted Baldhead Mountain, thus avoiding Cave 
Spring and Mad Man’s Pit, Claude viewed the matter 
from all sides, unable to reach any conclusion. In weigh- 
ing motives and probabilities, he was surprised to find him- 
self in the attitude of a partial judge, as if afraid to pro- 
81 


82 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


nounce disinterested judgment. He shrank from admit- 
ting the alternative that Mrs. Gradley might have accused 
Norris falsely in order to have her degraded by her father 
as a servant; but if this were not the truth, Norris had 
attempted assassination of the most hideous nature. 

All that Claude knew of step-mothers had been learned 
from his black nurse. As a white-robed lad of five or six, 
he had been taught to pray, “Lord, deliver me from sin 
and a step-mother.” Since that remote day, he had classed 
the superstition of the old negress regarding step- 
mothers, in a class with that of her ghosts and grave- 
yards. He had known children blessed by the advent of 
a second mother, but now, in thinking over what Peter 
Poff had said, all the old legends of sitting in ashes, and 
hiding under juniper trees, were revived. 

But hardly did be begin to suspect that there might be 
some truth in the story, when out of the moonlight seemed 
to rise the face and form of Gradley ’s wife. Could such 
an exquisite piece of nature’s handiwork contain a dark 
and malicious heart? Pie remembered Norris crouching 
among the fallen trees, flitting to and fro about her menial 
tasks of the kitchen, hiding in the thicket near Mad Man’s 
Pit. Always hiding — always slipping away — surely she 
was the criminal. Perhaps she had been furious at her 
father’s second marriage; had fought against it in vain; 
had been sullen in her defeat ; and in a moment of brood- 
ing vindictiveness had meditated revenge, even the death 
of the alien woman, by poison. The poison had been 


OF THE OZARKS 


83 


detected — after that, Norris had been banished to the barn. 

The explanation was simple, but the recollection of 
Norris’s eyes seemed to contradict it. Consequently, he 
did not visit the Gradley cabin the next day, nor the day 
following; he desired to see Mrs. Gradley again; he de- 
sired to see Norris — but in his painful indecision he feared 
to encounter either. 

Every night Bates came home from drilling, in an 
abstracted mood which hung often upon the edge of 
irritation — a mood so unlike his merry, boisterous self, 
that even he was keenly aware of his strangeness. 

Sometimes as they sat by the camp fire, he would try to 
recapture his old manner, would plunge into a familiar 
anecdote along whose well-worn path he had been used to 
find bursts of laughter; but now there were no such 
blossoms, only thorns, and perhaps he would cease speak- 
ing before the end was reached. 

“I can’t help it,” he replied to Claude’s raillery, “I 
seem to have fallen into myself and I can’t climb out to 
meet you on the open — you don’t know what it is, all 
of a sudden, to discover a big cave in your nature, eh? 
I’m exploring one I never knew was there — I’m getting 
lots of experience.” 

“What will you do with it?” 

“Do? That’s what’s driving me mad — there’s nothing 
I can do.” 

A long pause. 

“Does Giles Gradley improve on acquaintance?” 


84 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


Bates answered slowly, “I don’t know him any better 
than the day we met.” 

“You see a good deal of him.” 

“I don’t think much about the fellow.” 

From the nearby stream came conflicting choruses of 
frogs at practice. The locusts held their high note so 
long that it seemed a part of the sound-movement of the 
night. Overhead sounded the sudden wheezing inquiry 
of a screech-owl. A sudden splash at the margin of Pos- 
sum Creek told that a muskrat was taking his bath, while 
occasionally a sharp slap at the water betrayed leaping 
fish. 

Suddenly Claude — “Don’t you think you’d better?” 

Bates groped out of his cave, in which he had been 
seeking bright nuggets of fancy. “Eh? Oh, are you 
still there? Well, what was the latest?” 

“I was hinting that perhaps you’d better think about 
him.” 

“About who? What do you mean? What are you 
talking about?” 

“I’m talking about Giles Gradley, that’s who I’m 
talking about.” 

“Confound Giles Gradley,” exclaimed Bates starting 
up angrily, “and confound you and everybody else! — 
except the Beautiful Woman. Good night. There’s no 
Giles Gradley in my dreams, at any rate.” 

On the third day after the dance at Bud Poff’s, Claude’s 
mind was made up — he would see Mrs. Gradley, talk to 


OF THE OZARKS 


85 


her, look into her eyes, sound her innermost nature; and 
he would see Norris and, if possible, talk to her. He 
carried rod and reel to give an unpremeditated air to 
his visit, but when he reached the scene of the drilling, 
he found only Peter Poff, and an empty white duck 
campchair under the isolated persimmon tree from which 
Bates was wont to direct operations. 

“He has went to the house, for a word with Mrs. Grad- 
ley,” said Peter, pausing to dash the sweat from his eyes. 
The sun was unmercifully hot, the air was close and 
oppressive from a gathering summer-storm, and the drill 
stood free of the woods. Peter had removed his outer shirt 
and was in all respects so lightly clad that he seemed 
about to make good his oft-asserted boast that he was in 
a state of nature. 

Claude crossed the road to the rail fence, and, at the 
end of the straggling turkey shed discovered a moving 
form — it was Norris. She wore the same plain, patched 
dress, the same heavy shoes and big sunbonnet, and, as 
on the occasion of the wood-chopping, and on the day when 
her father had driven her from his store, her appearance 
would have been not only humble but commonplace, but 
for the grace of her movements. It seemed that despite 
any garb that might seek to commonize her, there was a 
fineness within that could not be disguised. 

Her attitude could not have been more prosaic; she 
was upon her knees, pouring water into a shallow pan for 
the benefit of at least two hundred little turkeys. When 


86 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


it was full, she pushed it under a huge latticed pen, while 
the turkey-hens stalked about on the outside, their long 
blue legs bent backward, their feathers ruffled with an 
effect of extreme skittishness. 

It was not until Norris was about to rise, that she dis- 
covered Claude. He saw a flash of the eye, a flush of the 
cheek, and then the bonnet drooped and the dark slender 
face was hidden. She rose and with her back always 
toward him, passed into the shed. Did not her silence, 
her evasive looks, her flight, speak of conscious guilt? 
Would Mrs. Gradley shrink thus from his scrutinizing 
gaze? 

Claude went back to Peter Poff, and was startled at 
finding the campchair occupied by Gradley’s wife. He 
hastened to share with her the shade of the persimmon 
tree, wishing that Peter were more fully clothed, and 
trying to believe that the enormous amount of whiskers 
affected by the laborer did something toward hiding his 
nakedness. 

Mrs. Gradley lent to the landscape a thousand sug- 
gestions of fairy charm. In the midst of heated light- 
waves that radiated from rock-bound earth and fast- 
clouding sky, she was cool. Against the red pyramid of 
earth, her white skin shimmered delicately. The rich 
luminous texture of her brown hair seen against the sky, 
made it a perfect sky. 

She was so glad to see Claude that he reproached him- 
self for having staid away so long, and especially for his 


OF THE OZARKS 


87 


morbid imaginings. Of course she must get terribly lone- 
some, since her husband was at the store every day; she 
could not but crave the society of men — like himself — able 
to appreciate the finer qualities of her mind and heart. 
Just now she was especially glad to see him, for she feared 
a storm was on its way. 

He told himself that heneceforth he would be more 
sociable — he loved solitude, but, all the same, it would 
not do to despise humanity. Is it natural for a young man 
to shut himself up with rod and gun? A young man 
must mingle with his kind ; a young man must expect to 
marry some day — his father had desired him to choose 
a wife even before Claude had been left fatherless. And 
there is no doubt that nothing makes a home like a pretty 
woman. 

They had not talked long before interruption came in 
the stalwart form of Rodney Bates. As Mrs. Gradley 
had conveyed to Claude the delicate impression that his 
coming had been to her a pleasure, in the nature of an 
escape, so now she made it felt that Bates was the cause 
of her previous relief. At Claudes coming, she had re- 
mained in the chair, and he had cast himself at her feet; 
at Bates’ coming she rose with a certain definiteness, say- 
ing, 

“I must go now.” 

Bates interposed eagerly — “But I’ve been to the house 
hunting you. Please stay, Mrs. Gradley— I wanted you.” 

“Is anything the matter?” 


88 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


“Oh, no — that is — but no, of course not.” 

“But I must go now, Mr. Walcott — ” her eyes were 
bright — “you must come again — you must come often — 
when Mr. Gradley is at home.” 

Bates stood watching her till she had disappeared be- 
hind the shed, then sank upon the chair and took off coat, 
collar and tie. He shouted to Peter — 

“About melted, Poff?” 

“Not me; don’t you be skeered of me.” He slowly — 
very slowly — lowered the scraper into the hole. “When- 
ever I begins a day’s work, I strikes a lasting gait that 
carries me to sundown. How long a man can go don’t 
depend on his strength, or his willingness, or his wishes; 
there’s everything in the gait.” 

“Claude — ” Bates addressed the horizontal figure, “is 
it as romantic lying at the lady’s feet, as near the toes 
of my boots? See here, young man — listen! Do you 
know why she was glad you came?” 

“Don’t compel me to compliment myself.” 

“You were a relief to her, Claude, a real relief.” 

“From what?” Claude demanded. 

Bates lighted a cigarette, his eyes bright; he seemed 
greatly elated, repeating, “It was a relief to her!” 

Claude started up, impatiently. “Rod, she hinted that 
you shouldn’t go to the house while her husband’s away.” 

“Sure. Quite correct.” 

“She was right, Rod.” 

“Sure. Very proper, too.” Bates smiled. 


OF THE OZARKS 


89 


Claude frowned at him with exaggerated fierceness — 
“You villain, you seem positively happy!” 

Bates laughed, not the old jolly, rather-loud laugh, 
but one of deep satisfaction. “Maybe I am — I never 
ask myself.” 

“Old fellow — a man should always count the costs, 
you know.” 

Bates flung away his cigarette which was not half- 
smoked, and lighted another. “Well, Claude, it doesn’t 
cost you anything.” 

The other gave a short laugh: “Which means to mind 
my business? Thank you. And now — the storm will 
catch me before I get home.” 

Peter had begun to put away his movable tools in great 
haste, but Bates was serene, remarking, “I know of a 
roof not very far away.” 

The wind had sprung up with amazing swiftness and 
now it swept a stifling cloud of red dust along the road. 
Suddenly the forest groaned as in pain. In the midst of 
the cloud appeared Giles Gradley spurring on his black 
horse at a mad pace. Seeing the men he shouted — 
“Come!” 

Bates had already started for the cabin; Claude came 
after him on the run. Peter Poff was half down the hill 
in the opposite direction, on the way to one of his well- 
known haunts, possibly a cave. 

“In with you— quick!” It was the authoritative voice 


90 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


of Giles Gradley as Claude and Bates burst into the 
cabin. The door was flung shut. 

Mrs. Gradley, pale and agitated, was wringing her 
hands, moaning, “it is such a storm — oh, it is such a 
storm!” If her manner had been affected on the even- 
ing of the supper, she was now sincere with all the world, 
for such fear is too sincere for artifice. “I am afraid — it 
is such a storm!” 

“This wind will blow over in a few minutes,” Bates 
assured her. “Don’t you be scared, Mrs. Gradley.” His 
soft tone in calling her name, his instinctive tenderness 
and air of protection, his bending toward her as he spoke, 
caused Claude to cast an uneasy glance toward the hus- 
band. He was much discomfited to find his covert glance 
caught and held by the deep penetrating eyes of the mas- 
ter of the cabin. 

There was a curious expression on the large, strong 
face; the thin lips wreathed themselves in a subtle smile. 

“Yes,” he said, to Claude, exactly as if the young man 
had asked him a question, “I am taking lessons on the 
proper manner in which one should treat his wife.” 

A shriek from the storm flew by the window like a 
trumpet-blast. The cabin was violently shaken, and Mrs. 
Gradley, covering her face, uttered a despairing cry, 
adding, “I am so afraid — ” 

Rodney Bates stepped forward, his eyes furious — “Mr. 
Gradley, I do not understand you.” 


OF THE OZARKS 


91 


“Do you not?” Gradley looked at him fixedly; “very 
good, then; you are in the majority.” 

Bates paused, white and savage, but his glance at the 
cowering woman softened him. She was so like a fright- 
ened child — a beautiful frightened little darling — some 
one should take those trembling hands from the terrified 
face, some one should smooth back the disordered hair to 
rest a protecting hand upon the lovely brow. It was 
Gradley’s right, and Bates would have been content to 
see that right exercised, since he might not dare. 

The door was suddenly thrown open, letting in a violent 
gust which came as a relief to the tension of the inmates. 

Mrs. Gradley screamed. A form darted in — that of 
Norris. 

“What do you want?” Gradley asked, harshly. “Why 
are you here?” 

Her voice came quick and pleading while Claude was 
setting his shoulder to the door, to close it against the 
wind. “Father! Jim is in the road under the big thorn- 
tree — lying there, his arm broken. Oh, come, help me 
carry him to the barn before the rain.” 

“Drunk, is he?” growled Gradley. 

“He had been drinking. I carried him from the foot 
of the hill.” 

“You? Carried him up that hill? What are you 
saying!” 

“But I was obliged to — he is all in pain, and can’t 
move. A big rock fell from the cliff and he was not quite 


92 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


out of the way — ” She caught her breath, and leaned 
heavily against the wall, eyes entreating, strength slowly 
returning. 

Claude could not see her very distinctly for the room 
had grown ominously dark; but he fancied upon her 
features an expression of rare nobility as of the soul shin- 
ing through the veil of flesh. 

‘Til go,” said Gradley, abruptly. “Walcott, will you 
come? — Bates had better remain to comfort my wife — 
he knows how.” 

There came a blinding flash of lightning which brought 
out Gradley’s head in startling relief, and betrayed the 
grim smile of the compressed lips. 

Bates spoke accusingly: “Is this Jim the young chap 
that the girl begged you not to sell whisky to — that first 
day I struck Ozarka?” 

“The very same Jim,” was the cool retort. “Come, 
Walcott. Come, Norris.” 

Bates called, with marked hostility, “And did you sell 
whisky to him today?” 

“Mr. Bates!” murmured Mrs. Gradley, warningly. 

“As it happened, I sold whisky to him today,” said 
Gradley, pausing before opening the door. “I did not 
make the whisky, however; and I did not make Jim’s 
appetite for it. Will you ask me something else? No? 
Then let me ask you a question, since you remember so 
well our first meeting. I said to you, on that interesting 
occasion, that all men have a door opening upon hell if 


OF THE OZARKS 


93 


one could but find the right key to fit the lock. Have you 
found the key that opens your own door? Or is it pos- 
sible that some one else has found it, and you don’t know 
it?” 

“But father !” interposed Norris, desperately, “the rain 
is coming, and poor Jim is suffering terribly.” 

“Yes, yes,” muttered Gradley, drawing open the door, 
“come, then. Out in the storm, Norris, that’s the place 
for you, anyhow — and it’s the place for me. Out in the 
storm, Walcott, if you will lend a hand.” 

The three hurried away, bending against the blast. 
They had not reached the road when Claude suddenly 
exclaimed — 

“Listen!” 

At his startled voice, all stopped but Norris. Above 
the roar of the wind, as it surged through the forest, 
could be heard a far-off cry, scarcely to be distinguished 
from the moaning of the trees. 

“Father!” called Norris, pleadingly, not looking back. 

“Well?” demanded Gradley of the young man, “what 
do you hear?” 

“Don’t you hear it, also?” 

“The wind. The storm — yes. Come, why do you 
delay us to listen to that? Doesn’t it fill all the night?” 

“But it’s a cry — now — I can catch the words — don’t 
you hear them?” 

“No, no, no,” exclaimed the other fiercely, “I hear 
nothing but our own voices.” 


94 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


The cry came again, but it was fainter. The wind bore 
it to Claude’s straining ears like a sigh outriding the 
storm — “The Green Witch! The Green Witch!” 

Then came voices nearer, but still far away, as if on 
another hilltop: “Which way did she go?” 

“Ah,” said Gradley, contemptuously, “now I under- 
stand. They are chasing the Green Witch.” 

“Yes, but what is that?” 

“Only a delusion. Merely a fantasy.” 

“Father!” begged Norris from the middle of the dust- 
swept road. 

Gradley ran to overtake her, and the other followed, 
bewildered by those far-off voices which floated toward 
him, now from one elevation, now from another — 

“The Green Witch!” 

“She passed this way!” 

“No — she went toward the north. Hurry — hurry — 

Everybody come — ” 

The last faint cry died away, and nothing more was to 
be heard but the fury of the storm. 


CHAPTER XI 


THE GIRL AT HOME 

I T was a strangely dark outdoors, after so brief an 
interval between summer brightness and the ominous 
gloom. They moved like fleeing figures driven along 
in dust-clouds, as if blown from the plateau down the 
hill. Only their heads and shoulders were at all times 
visible ; occasionally their bodies emerged from the billow- 
ing dust; and when the lightning played, it revealed the 
slender form of Gradley’s daughter in all its lithe, supple 
outlines — Claude kept his eyes upon her, struck by the 
beauty of her swift motion, and the “Green Witch” was 
forgotten. 

When they turned from the road to enter the woods, 
the dust was dispelled, but leaves and bits of branches were 
lifted from the ground, filling the air. Norris found her 
bonnet disturbing, and soon snatched it from her head 
which, from the rear, thanks to its closely-cropped hair, 
looked something boyish. In spite of the skirts that were 
whipped about her and in spite of the heavy shoes, her 
descent was not only swift, but instinct with a wild grace. 
This girl, now so eager to relieve a half-drunken lad — had 
she indeed tried to poison her father’s wife? 

They left the woods to follow the road across a barren 
95 


96 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


field, and under a huge thorntree that stood alone, lay 
a dark mass which the incessant lightning defined as Jim. 

He was an ill-favored lad of fourteen, stunted in 
growth, thin, ragged and unkempt. His breath reeked 
with the whisky that had sent him homeward from Ozarka 
more than half drunk ; the breaking of his arm had sobered 
him, and the long thin face was now twisted with pain. 

Norris knelt and put her arms about the puny frame. 
The men stood looking down, the wind rushing overhead 
with whistled crescendo, the tree groaning and straining 
as if to cast aside its anchorage of roots, to sail away into 
the sky. 

“Dear Jim, poor Jim — does it hurt so very bad?” 

Her thought was only of him. In her voice was the 
magic of woman’s pity, on her thin face, despite its un- 
filled lines and troubled brow, was the loveliness of 
woman’s pure compassion. 

Was the lightning playing false tricks with Claude, 
or was the countenance indeed lovely? How could 
innocence look from her black eyes, what place had 
purity upon the tremulous lips, if that rumor of attempted 
crime were based upon truth? And yet, he must not 
forget that it was Mrs. Gradley who had spread the 
report, and that Giles Gradley had confirmed it. 

Claude was more troubled by the sight of Norris, than 
by the injured boy. Was it the sorrow of years, that her 
face expressed in answer to Jim’s anguish? Could such 
seeming sympathy be merely assumed? 


OF THE OZARKS 


97 


“It hurts awful, just awful !” Jim gasped. “Oh, Norris 
— Norris! My arm!” 

Gradley said to Claude, “Come — we must carry him.” 

They lifted the frail body, Claude instinctively receiv- 
ing the greater part of the weight, for Gradley was pant- 
ing from his recent exertions. 

Norris walked by the lad’s side. “I am here,” she 
kept saying, “I am here.” 

Jim gasped, “Hold my hand.” 

Norris took his groping hand. In doing so her bare 
arm touched Claude’s wrist, and he made an involuntary 
movement to draw away. She caught a sudden breath. 
Did she suffer, also? 

Gradley addressed the child in a voice so tender that 
Claude who had felt a touch of remorse, forgot it in 
his amazement that the other could be so gentle — “I’ll 
fix you, little chap ; you’ll stay right at my house till you’re 
well, and Norris shall nurse you all the time — won’t you, 
Norris?” 

At hearing his voice so kind, a sob escaped her, “Oh, 
father!” she exclaimed, brokenly. 

Jim forgot his suffering, for he thought her cry an 
expression of pain. “What’s the matter, Norris — are you 
hurt, too?” 

Norris could not answer. 

Gradley spoke with the same tenderness as before — 
“Don’t cry, little girl.” Still holding the boy’s limbs in 
one arm, he passed the other about his daughter. 


98 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


Norris trembled with ecstatic happiness; it was much 
too wonderful to be hidden, and Claude was confused, 
as if he had been detected in a fault. Thus they made their 
way through the storm to the log cabin, entering as the 
big drops were beginning to fall. 

It was dark enough to require a lamp, and by its rays, 
Rodney Bates was looking over a pile of music, while 
Mrs. Gradley, too frightened to play, sat idly at the 
piano. At sight of the injured boy, Bates started forward 
to help, but his companion shrank back with a cry. 

“Don’t bring him here,” she exclaimed, impetuously, 
“don’t bring him in here! There’s no room — ” 

“Please let him stay with me in the barn,” Norris inter- 
posed, looking only at her father. 

Without a word, Giles nodded to Claude and they left 
the cabin. For a moment Bates hesitated, desiring to 
follow, that he might assist; but when he glanced at Mrs. 
Gradley, he lost the impulse, and closed the door against 
the first gusts of rain. 

They made such haste across the lot, that Jim and his 
friends were not very wet when they reached the barn. 
A ladder nailed upright against the wall presented diffi- 
culties, but soon all four were in the loft. 

Everything was indistinguishable until Norris lighted 
her candle; on one side, hay was heaped to the roof, at 
one corner, a partition of rude boards fenced off a narrow 
space which served as her bedroom. Here, Jim was 
stretched upon Norris’s bed — a mattress upheld by two 


OF THE OZARKS 


99 


goodsboxes, — and upon another box, the candle was 
placed. 

“What will you do?” Norris’s father asked her. 

“Oh, I’ll sleep on the hay,” she answered, eagerly. “It 
makes a very pleasant bed, and is so healthful and clean.” 

Claude darted a glance at Giles Gradley. 

The other returned it with an inscrutable smile, saying, 
“Oh, your friend Bates didn’t come? — quieting my wife, 
no doubt! She is terribly afraid of storms. Hold the 
candle, Norris, let’s see what has happened.” 

After all, the arm was not broken. It had been 
wrenched from the socket and the flesh had been torn. 
The men pulled the bone back into place. There were a 
few screams, a sharp report, a good many tears, and all 
was done. 

“You’ll be all right now, little man,” Gradley said, 
stroking the rough red hair as it rested against Norris’s 
bosom. His slim white fingers showed the gentleness of 
a woman, and his handsome face was marvellously soft- 
ened. Claude was sensible of his strong magnetism; he 
felt drawn toward him — could Gradley be at heart a bad 
man? Yet if not bad, how account for his treatment of 
his daughter. If he was not bad, could Norris be inno- 
cent? It struck Claude with something like grim humor 
that he must make out everybody to be .villains, in order 
to exonerate the girl. 

He stood silently watching the massive head as the 
candle touched up its rugged beauty, suggesting more 


100 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


power than it revealed. As the shapely hand stroked Jim’s 
crash locks, it also smoothed the short dark hair of Norris. 
She, feeling that unaccustomed touch, looked up, her eyes 
shining at him from across the sobbing form of the boy. 

She seemed to have forgotten Claude’s presence; love 
for her father was a mighty passion of the inner soul that 
had no room for thought or self-consciousness. When he 
was unkind, when he mistrusted, when he was cruel, she 
loved him. And tonight, he was all sympathy. Out of the 
great eyes shone the unspeakable gratitude of a heart 
which when crushed, makes no reproach, which when 
smiled upon, enters its heaven. 

And what was the cause of this sudden glory which 
made her face a new face, which transformed features 
ordinarily so melancholy as to be almost plain, with a 
lofty and noble bearing? Nothing but a kind tone, and 
a touch upon the head ! 

Gradley turned from her with sudden brusqueness, yet 
not in anger, as if he would have shielded his eyes from 
the brightness of her face. 

“We will return to the cabin,” he told Claude. 

Norris said timidly, “It is raining very hard, father.” 

In truth, the downpour upon the roof forced them to 
speak in loud voices. 

“Rain can only make us wet,” Gradley called, as he 
went toward the head of the ladder. “Fire can only 
burn — such things are nothing to the real man. What 
does it matter what befalls these carcasses we drag about 


OF THE OZARKS 


101 


with us?” He cast a brooding look at Claude, as if ex- 
pecting him to answer. 

However, they reached the cabin without another word. 

Mrs. Gradley had her back to them, as she stared 
through the window, and Bates was at her side, pointing 
out the effect of wind and rain on the landscape. 

She turned to her husband, quickly — “the storm is 
getting worse,” she faltered. 

“So much the better,” he answered, shortly. “I love 
storms — terrible storms, such as drive all before them. 
If one could do that — sweep all before one — Ah that’s 
power!” His face darkened. 

Mrs. Gradley ’s lips parted in one of her delicious smiles 
that warmed the skin in the luminous beauty of the heart’s 
sunshine, as if forgetting the storm in the recollection of 
other days. “You have done that,” she exclaimed, as if 
Claude and Rodney Bates were not present. “Again and 
again! You have swept everything before you.” 

“Ah!” he exclaimed, drawing a quick breath as he 
stared at her. Then his face was swept by an illuminating 
smile. 

Claude had the impression that husband and wife had 
been for a time estranged — possibly because of Rodney 
Bates — and that, by some subtle reminder, she had re- 
gained her ascendency. At any rate, during the rest of the 
storm, which lasted several hours, Gradley treated both 
guests with marked consideration. 

Rodney Bates was also aware of the change, since Grad- 


102 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


ley no longer betrayed any sign of latent hostility; he felt 
himself a thousand leagues removed from Mrs. Gradley. 
There had been times, that afternoon, when he had felt 
much nearer. 


CHAPTER XII 

THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN GOES HUNTING 

I T was night before Claude and his friend reached camp, 
a wet, clouded night with chill air and shuddering 
trees which flung after them cold raindrop-showers. 
Thanks to the good red earth ribbed with rock, their 
feet found solid support beneath slushy layers of last 
year’s leaves. They did not converse, and Claude fancied 
that Bates was somewhat sulky because the invitation to 
stay all night at Gradley’s had been refused by the young 
man. 

The cabin with its two rooms was not large enough ; and 
besides — 

Claude had never known Bates so prone to fall into 
silences. The middle-aged bachelor was a changed man 
since coming to the Ozarks, and the change was not for 
the better, at least in the way of familiar intercourse. 

When Possum Creek was reached, they found the tent 
blown down and everything soaked. Claude’s shout at 
this discovery, while rueful, was shaded with the humor- 
ous aspect of affairs, but the other returned rather 
moodily — 

“Well, see that! What’s to be done?” He muttered 
other words such as suited his mood. “We ought to have 
103 


104 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


staid at Gradley’s,” he added reproachfully. “They 
wanted us.” 

“These things must be dried — we’ll make a fire,” was 
Claude’s cheery response, thinking of the days when Bates 
would have laughed boisterously at such discomfiture. 
After various attempts, he induced a sickly blaze to lick 
tentatively at damp twigs as if to find if they were suited 
to the taste. Bates only looked on. 

“Now,” Claude cried, gaily, “let’s get up the tent.” 

“Oh, damn everything!” growled Bates, glaring at the 
prostrate poles. 

“And while you’re doing that, I’ll get supper. You 
look as glum as if you’d met the Green Witch. Luckily 
she hasn’t sung any incantations over me!” And he went 
to work, whistling cheerfully. 

Bates watched awhile, then kicked objects out of his 
way, and grappled with the canvas. “Claude, what’s come 
over me? If there ever was a fool, his name’s Bates.” 

“We’re perfectly agreed on that. Wait, I’ll help you 
with the rope.” 

Bates laughed, and they put up the tent, talking briskly 
about the work in hand. Presently a big fire was roaring; 
bedclothes slung upon damp stakes, lifted their ghostly 
forms about the circle of light; the odor of spitted bacon 
flavored the air with good cheer — but when Bates became 
inactive, his light flared out. He said solemnly — 

“I suppose you’ve heard that the girl is Mrs. Gradley’s 
step-daughter?” 


OF THE OZARKS 


105 


“Yes.” 

“Yes,” the other said, also. 

They began to eat their supper — smoking bacon, corn- 
bread, warmed-over fish, coffee, with additions from 
canned foods. 

“When you and Gradley carried Jim to the barn, you 
left me in the cabin with Mrs. Gradley.” 

“I know that well enough.” 

“Yes. And while you were gone, she told me all about 
that servant; it’s Gradley’s own daughter, Norris. Mrs. 
Gradley says she has tried by every means in her power 
to win over that girl. No use. Norris didn’t want her 
father to marry again, and she’s always hated Mrs. Grad- 
ley. Think to what lengths the little imp’s hatred could 
go. Tried to poison Mrs. Gradley! What a devil! Ugly 
little vixen! I asked Mrs. Gradley why they didn’t send 
the creature to a school of correction — they didn’t think 
of it in time — she’s of age, now. Doesn’t it make your 
blood boil? Mrs. Gradley is an angel, to let the ugly 
wretch crawl at her feet — such slender little feet — ” 

“Rod! — Surely you’re bewitched! Yes, sir, it’s all the 
work of that Green Witch — she must slip here while we 
sleep with her spells. But I’ll save you—” 

“Oh, save yourself the trouble, I’m all right. I can 
admire a picture without wanting to steal it. Mrs. Grad- 
ley is nothing to me but a beautiful picture, hanging in 
somebody else’s gallery. What are my eyes for, or my 
taste, if I’m not to admire? Do you think God made 


106 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


her exquisitely beautiful for the sole benefit of Giles Grad- 
ley ? ' And she is as sweet, modest, and humble as beauti- 
ful — she’s a saint!” 

“Must make you feel very unworthy to be near her!” 

“Does. And it’s good for a man to be made humble 
in that way. How can she endure that brute of a hus- 
band, if she’s not an angel ? — and that ugly little assassin ! 
When I think of Mrs. Gradley in such surroundings, I 
feel that I could do — anything.” 

Claude felt chilled, as if his friend were drawing farther 
and farther away, as if soon a sea of dark mystery would 
widen its cold depths between their souls — a sea never to 
be recrossed. 

“Ever notice how her brown hair glows? Believe I 
could see it in the dark. * * * Don’t worry; noth- 

ing matters about me — I’m only a commonplace business 
man, there’s no one to care what becomes of me — don’t 
seem to care, myself! Suppose I should think too much 
of her — she’d never know, nor Gradley! Why may I 
not treat myself to the dissipation?” 

He laughed and stirred the fire, causing the sparks to 
stream away far above the treetops. 

It was impossible for Claude to banish from memory 
the face and form which the other’s words conjured up. 
“Rod, I am not surprised that you have thought of her 
the past two years — but then, you didn’t know of her 
husband — ” 

“Ever see a more beautiful woman?” 


OF THE OZARKS 


107 


“Never.” 

“Think of her eyes and mouth and tell me if you be- 
lieve she lied about that poisoning.” 

“But Rod, if what she said is true, if she is all you 
think, isn’t that the more reason for you to come with me 
back to Kansas City?” 

“With you? When?” 

“The moment you say the word. Tomorrow, if you 
will.” 

“But I won’t. My work is here — and so ie my heart. 
There! But I’m aware that Fjn wretched company — 
you get no good out of me, and I don’t believe you’re 
taking much interest in hunting — Claude, what makes 
you stay here, yourself?” 

Claude threw back his head to laugh. “Upon my 
word, I don’t know!” 

Then Bates laughed, and at the moment they seemed 
oddly together. 

If the Beautiful Woman had spoken the truth about 
Norris * * * And how could a woman so beauti- 

ful attribute to an innocent girl so hideous a crime as 
that of which Norris was accused? * * * On the 

other hand, how could such a girl with her devotion to 
her father, with her gift of tender sympathy for a child 
like Jim, have been guilty of an attempted deed so foul ? 

Claude did not know how to answer his friend’s demand, 
so he said no more; he could not answer his self-question- 
ings, so for days he avoided the Gradley cabin. He dreaded 


108 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


meeting Mrs. Gradley, he dreaded seeing Norris. One 
of them must be innocent — but which one? And which 
one would he rather find innocent? 

It was more than a week after the storm when the 
young man felt once more the irresistible desire to see 
the two women, or at least one of them — preferably Mrs. 
Gradley, that he might drink in her beauty as that of 
a “picture” — a living picture. 

In one hand, he carried his book of poems, in the other 
his rod, as he followed a faintly-marked cowpath rising 
from a rocky pasture through densely wooded hills. But 
he did not read poetry now, he was thinking poetry. It 
was late enough for the glorious sunshine to have absorbed 
the morning dew, and all was freshness and tender de- 
light in the wilderness. 

He did not intend to go to the Gradley cabin until 
several hours later, hence sought the skirting hills, from 
the summits of which he could look across at the scene of 
excavation where the red pyramid of earth and gravel 
stood out against the hazy blue of more distant mountains. 

Claude was slowly making his way down a gradual 
slope when he heard a stir in the thicket on his right, 
and a form slipped into view. 

It was Mrs. Gradley, dressed in hunting costume, gun 
in hand. At sight of Claude she started violently, utter- 
ing a slight exclamation, then turned as if to flee. Her 
face reddened, as if her short skirts had caused a blush of 
modesty. 



‘MRS. GRADLEY ! ” 


CLAUDE EXCLAIMED.— Page 109. 
























































































. . 




















































































































OF THE OZARKS 


109 


“Mrs. Gradley!” Claude exclaimed, in confused pleas- 
ure. “I am so glad . . . I’m afraid I startled 

you.” He told himself it was no wonder such a sight as 
this had bewitched Rodney Bates on his first coming to 
the Ozarks. The yellow blouse and skirts, the leathern 
leggins, laced to perfect fit, the dainty moccasins, all lent 
charming picturesqueness to the effect, to charm not only 
the simplest, but the most critical eye. 

“I often go hunting,” she apologized, “because it’s so 
lonely at home — but I never meet any one — I am so 
nervous . . 

“But it is splendid!” Claude exclaimed, anxious to put 
her at her ease. “We are in the wilderness , together, 
each dressed in keeping with surroundings. Have you 
killed any deer this morning?” 

“I fired at one,” she smiled, radiantly. “Promise you’ll 
not follow me . . .” 

“But why couldn’t we hunt together?” he asked, urg- 
ently. 

“No, no, my friend — let me go alone, or I shall be 
sorry we met.” 

“Sorry we met! Please don’t say that. How could I 
displease you? It must be goodby, then, although I 
haven’t seen you for so long.” 

“Is that my fault?” she smiled. “But yes, it is goodby. 
And thank you, Mr. Walcott.” Her eyes were cast shyly 
down as, with sweet simplicity, she extended her hand. 

He clasped it gratefully, then stood like a soldier on 


110 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


guard until she had vanished among the trees. As he 
stood thus, looking after her, listening for the last soft 
footfall, he was so sure that he was alone, that he did 
not attempt to restrain a sigh, pensive, rather than fer- 
vent. He spoke aloud, whimsically — “O you Beautiful 
Woman!” 

The last sound of Mrs. Gradley had vanished like the 
rustle of a falling leaf. Claude turned about to resume 
his progress toward the valley; it was then that he made 
a discovery — Some one was watching him; had evidently 
been watching him for a good while, for the eyes that 
were visible among the leaves of the bushes, did not show 
any surprise. 

He could see nothing but the eyes, and as he looked 
they turned away. After an instant’s hesitation, he darted 
toward the spot, more angry than astonished, and he had 
hardly entered the undergrowth before he had seen 
enough to tell him that it was Norris. 

His first thought was, that she had been acting as a 
spy, and he wondered that she did not try to escape ; but 
as he plunged through the barrier that surrounded a 
small clearing, the reason became apparent. 

A rope, slender but strong, had been wrapped about 
her, pinning her arms immovably to her sides, and hold- 
ing her body and limbs to a forest tree so securely that 
it was impossible for her to move. 


CHAPTER XIII 

LITTLE BRAVE HEART 

N ORRIS was, indeed, in most wretched plight. Her 
dress had been torn to strips which fluttered about 
her helpless form in the light breeze. Her shoes 
and stockings swung from a bough high above her head, 
but there was nobody in sight to betray the author of her 
misfortune. 

As Claude stared at the girl so securely tied to the tree, 
his meeting with Mrs. Gradley was too recent to be 
altogether forgotten. The charm, the modesty, the shy- 
ness of the Beautiful Woman seemed still to linger on the 
air, casting, as it were, a darker shade upon Norris than 
that of the great tree. Why was the girl always running 
away, or being tormented? If she were innocent, why 
always appearing in the guise of a criminal? The win- 
ning eyes, the sweet smile of Mrs. Gradley, seemed to 
ask Claude if he could be a friend to the step-daughter. 

“Who tied you to the tree?” he asked abruptly, as he 
drew his hunting knife. His perplexity brought a frown 
upon his brow as if really angry at himself, at Norris, 

at anybody but Mrs. Gradley. 

Ill 


112 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


“The girls,” was her low-voiced reply. She did not 
look at him. 

“The girls! And why did you let them?” He cut 
one of the coils. 

“I w r as here alone — there were twelve of them.” 

There were many loops, and in cutting through one, he 
touched her warm skin and drew back involuntarily. 
— The poisoner, or the maligned, — which was it? To 
keep from inflicting a wound, he was forced to hold her 
arm firmly; he hesitated, then did so with set mouth, 
and she, divining his feeling and his doubts, trembled. 

“Do I hurt you?” 

“I am very tired,” she murmured, trying to repress a 
sob. 

He proceeded as quickly as he dared, but the rope had 
been coiled so intricately that the task was tedious, as 
well as dangerous. 

He spoke with unconscious sharpness — “Don’t bear so 
heavily upon the ropes, or I’ll not be able to set you free.” 

It was when she tried desperately to straighten her- 
self that he found the cause of her hanging upon the 
cords till they chafed the flesh; she was utterly exhausted. 

With a hot wave of indignation against those who had 
thus mistreated her — “How long have you been here?” 

“All morning,” she answered, faintly. 

Claude’s mouth showed grim anger as he freed her 
limbs, then rose. Only one arm now remained securely 
bound in the network. As he pressed the edge of his 


OF THE OZARKS 


113 


knife against the rope a sudden thought caused him to 
start with such agitation that his hand became unsteady — 
“Does Mrs. Gradley know you are here?” 

Norris cried out in pain. 

“Now I have cut you!” he exclaimed, remorsefully. 

Freed from the tree, she sank upon the ground. Across 
her bare arm trickled a tiny stream of blood; but how- 
ever much he was moved by that sight, his suspicion was 
even more important and he persisted. 

“Did she know? Did Mrs. Gradley know?” 

The girl’s head had fallen upon her breast, as in com- 
plete dejection. “I’ll soon be able to go home,” she mur- 
mured. 

“You can’t walk, now?” 

“Not yet. But please go away. I shall do much better 
alone.” 

“And suppose the girls come again.” 

“They won’t come. Please go. 

“You should bind up that cut — or will you allow 
me — ” 

“Please don’t touch me again,” she said, not excitedly, 
but with desperate firmness. 

“Oh, very well,” he was thrown out of sympathy by 
her repulsion. “But if you won’t answer my question, 
you throw a very serious charge upon your mother.” 

There was a quick rush of color to her face: “My step- 
mother!” 

“I understand. But you intimate by your silence that 


114 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


she knew of your condition, yet left you to suffer alone. 
Such a charge as that is dreadful — you make her more 
cruel than those who tied you here.” 

“The girls said they would tell her,” Norris answered, 
in a low voice. “They knew she’d be pleased, and they 
supposed she’d come and set me free when she was ready. 
I think she did come to unfasten the rope, when she saw 
you in the path — so she had to go on without helping 
me — And I am in trouble, Mr. Walcott; won’t you leave 
me, please?” 

“But that blood should be checked,” he said, bewildered 
by her quiet manner and by what she had said. 

Norris made an impatient movement of her head. 

He went on with sudden resolution, “No, I’ll not leave 
you here alone. And I want to urge you, Norris, to be 
more charitable toward your step-mother. Your morbid 
state of mind has led you to imagine all sorts of wild 
impossibilities — she is too kind and gentle to want to hurt 
you, and if you would be kind and gentle to her, j^ou 
would completely win over your father; convince him that 
you mean to be friends with his wife, and he’ll very soon 
teach the mountain girls that they’re not to molest you.” 

Norris slowly rose, but her hand quickly pressed against 
the tree, showing how unfit she was to make her way 
over the hills. Her eyes burned with neither defiance nor 
anger. He was strongly impressed by her mastery over 
emotions. 


OF THE OZARKS 


115 


“I want to be your friend, Norris, and if I could make 
you see Mrs. Gradley as she really is — ” 

Norris literally stumbled as she began to make her way 
toward the path. Every step was an exertion, but her 
face was firmly set, and though her body swayed, her ex- 
pression was dauntless. 

After a brief hesitation, he hurried to her side — “Nor- 
ris! You are unable. You can’t reach home alone." 

As she turned to look at him, her face suddenly quivered. 
“Huntsman!” — the note of desolation was in her tone — 
“Won’t you let this poor wounded animal creep away to 
suffer in solitude?" 

Some powerful influence overwhelmed Claude, as if 
there came to him in vivid enlightenment a sudden under- 
standing of her heart which before, shadowy and dim, had 
been merged in the gloom of terrible suspicions. He 
caught, as it were, a sudden breath from her soul, fragrant 
with the innocence and pathos of crushed flowers. 

“No,” he cried so loudly that it came almost as a call, 
“no, Norris, I cannot leave you!” He grasped her hand, 
and holding it tightly, though she sought to wrench it 
away, he went on incoherently, “Look into my eyes — tell 
me, Norris, tell me!” 

If there had been a time when the charms of Gradley ’s 
wife had been luring him toward jagged rocks, that cur- 
rent had lost its power, and yet, but a brief half-hour 
before, he had held her hand, with a thrilling heart. It 
was strange that the rush of new emotions seemed to have 


116 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


removed Mrs. Gradley into the shadowy past of years 
forgotten, and stranger still, that he should not feel its 
strangeness. 

Norris looked into his eyes long and questioningly. At 
last, “What shall I tell you?” 

Claude exclaimed impulsively, “Nothing! Your eyes 
tell me all that 1 care to know — Norris! You are inno- 
cent!” 

The tears flooded her eyes as she sank to the earth ; her 
sobs were unrestrained. 

“I know you are,” Claude exclaimed, bending over her, 
“you must not tell me so, because I want to believe in you 
without words. I’ve wronged you with my horrid sus- 
picions, and I’ll repair the wrong as best I can, by perfect 
confidence — You need a friend, Norris — you must accept 
as a friend the man whose life you saved on the moun- 
tain.” 

Her head rested upon her arms. He bent lower, and 
tried to take one of her hands, to lift her up, but she drew 
away. 

“Norris!” 

The sobs ceased. 

“Norris — why don’t you let me take your hand? Am 
I not to be your friend ?” 

“Is it because I need you?” she asked, faintly. 

Claude’s face beamed, as he knelt beside her. “What 
a proud little Norris! Of course not — it’s because I need 
you ” 


OF THE OZARKS 


117 


Norris said, almost in a whisper, “You always shudder 
when you tpuch me.” 

Claude spread his coat over her feet, then took both her 
hands, and held them firmly. “Do I shudder?” he asked. 

Through her tears she looked up at him, then smiled, 
and as she smiled, the dark slender face was illumined 
in rarest beauty. No fairy could, with magic wand, have 
evoked for Norris a joy to be compared with that Claude 
had given, by the simple act of spreading his coat to hide 
her feet. 

He said, rather boastfully, “You haven’t many friends, 
Norris, who believe in you as I !” 

“Only three others,” she said sadly, then smiled at him 
with great sweetness. 

“Three others?” He was almost- sorry that there were 
three others. 

Her lips trembled in another smile — all her smiles lay 
on the dark borderland of her life-sorrow. “Only Peter 
Poff, and Bud Poff — and poor Jim.” 

Claude was half-jealous of Peter, Bud, and Jim. “So 
everybody else believes — ” 

“That I tried to poison — ” 

“Hush, Norris, don’t say that!” 

Her grasp tightened upon his hand. “But of course 
she knows better.” 

“Then Mrs. Gradley — ” 

“ — Invented it all, to make father hate me. They 


118 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


found the bottle under my pillow — after that, I’ve slept 
in the barn.” 

Claude shuddered. “And you suspect that she — ” 

“Nobody else could have put it there.” 

“How could your father believe it!” 

“He is not himself — Some day he’ll know — I must wait. 
I plan and plan, but there’s no other way. And I say to 
myself that only two know how to wait: A brave heart 
and God.” 

“Ah, Norris, you’ve given me my name for you — Little 
Brave Heart !” 

She smiled. “Will you help Little Brave Heart down 
the hill? It’s time to go home — She might come and — ” 

“Go? No, indeed — after it has taken so long for us 
to become acquainted! I must learn all about you — how 
you’ve spent your life here in the Ozarks, and what your 
life was before you came, and what were your thoughts 
when you were a child — but you are still just a child!” 
and he placed his hand gently upon the short locks. 

“No,” she answered, quietly removing his hand, “I am 
no longer a child.” 

“But dear, you are only a child to me.” 

“Then I must hurry home, for a little child has no 
business out on the hills — and if she sees us, she’ll make it 
much harder for me.” 

“Harder for you, dear Brave Heart? Come, then, lean 
on me — but wait; I remember that a part of your ward- 
robe is in the oak closet — I’ll go upstairs after it.” 


OF THE OZARKS 


119 


He climbed the tree for her shoes and stockings, and 
while she put them on, he examined the thickets to dis- 
cover if any divine form in yellow suit and leathern leggins 
hovered near. His search might have been more thorough, 
for, indeed, he no longer had eyes to send on aimless pil- 
grimages. 

“Lean as heavily as you can,” he told Norris, “for if 
I discover you’re not throwing half your weight upon my 
arm, I’ll pick you up and carry all of you! However old 
you fancy yourself, to me you are nothing on earth but 
just my dear little — my poor little mistreated friend.” 

By the time they reached the foot of Gradley’s hill, more 
than half her weight was, in truth, cast upon him; and 
here, at the ford where crystal clear water rippled over 
smooth sand, Claude took her in his arms without a 
word. He stepped into the water, and she closed her eyes. 

“Oh!” she whispered, resting her cheek against his 
shoulder, “my trust in you is as sweet as any thought of 
heaven.” 

Claude said nothing; but after the passage, he con- 
tinued carrying her till she opened her eyes, a third of the 
way up the hillside. 

“You must let me down, please — ” And he obeyed at 
once. 

In doing so, her wounded arm brushed his hair, and 
he remembered with wonder that formerly he had shrunk 
from touching it. All that was different, now. 

“Norris, I cut that arm, so I’m responsible — And you 


120 


THE LITTLE. FIDDLER 


are a mere child, you know — and it’s a saying of child- 
hood that to kiss a hurt place makes it well — ” 

Norris held out her arm, with a smile on her lips, and 
tears in her eyes — 

“Oh,” she said softly, “it’s as well now, as well can be!” 
Her face was rosy, not from sentiment, but from the daz- 
zling wonder that any one should care to kiss her arm. 

“I’m going to tell your father how you were treated,” 
Claude’s eyes flashed. “I’ll open his eyes — ” 

Norris was terrified. “If you take my part, she'll mis- 
treat me — Mr. Walcott, you could do no good — you’d 
do so much harm! No, we must wait. I’m sure she 
hasn’t the control over him she once had. At first, she 
only had to look and he’d do all she wished. Now — it 
seems to me he’s struggling to be free.” 

“But I can’t wait, Norris, I'm not Brave Heart! Every 
day of your waiting, your suffering grows more unen- 
durable.” 

“You must wait for my sake, Mr. Walcott. What 
could you do? Will my father listen to a stranger — ” 

“Norris!” 

“But to him you are a stranger. W e ?nust wait till 
her influence is less and less — and then, at the right time — 
strike!” 

“Norris, there’s one thing you don’t know.” 

“What is it?” 

“That it breaks my heart for you to suffer. Don’t ask 


OF THE OZARKS 


121 


me to wait. I want to go to your father this moment 
and tell him — ” 

She laid her hand upon his shoulder. “You must wait 
— for my sake — ” Still he hesitated. 

“Claudel” 

When Norris climbed the hill, she was alone. 


CHAPTER XIV 


THE LOVE OF GILES GRADLEY 

A S soon as Norris had assured herself that she was 
not followed, she sank upon the ground in the 
shelter of a nectarine tree, which grew at the rear 
of her father’s place. Near at hand were the turkey-sheds 
and the barn where she slept since the day of her banish- 
ment from the log cabin. Across the mottled surface of 
the stone-strewn field she could see Rodney Bates tipped 
back in his campchair, watching Peter Poff at work. 

This was Norris’s world. She had spent two years 
in the cabin, before the Beautiful Woman found poison 
in the food, and the bottle under the girl’s pillow — then 
three years in the barn. It had seemed to her a long 
existence, these five years in the Ozarks, at first only her 
father for intimate friend, and later, none. Her purpose 

to win back her father’s love had been the one alleviation 

% 

to her loneliness and sufferings — it was like a candle 
lighting her onward way. 

The rocks and whispering trees and rugged hills had 
been stern realities to her mind, not unlike grim personal- 
ities; the wailing of cold winds and the blasts of August 
heat had found her out in her illy-protected bedroom; the 
122 


OF THE OZARKS 


123 


people of the scattered settlements had looked at her with 
dread and hate. This had meant almost more than she 
could bear — but for her love, it would have been too much. 

And yet, as she lay under the tree gathering sufficient 
strength to carry her to the house, all this which had been 
so intensely real, seemed to fade and to be still fading in 
the brighter light of a deeper and most wonderful reality. 

On the day of the wood-cutting, Claude had appeared 
to her as a hero, tall, commanding ,* 1 strong, victorious. 
She had not dared to look him in the eyes, and yet she 
had scouted out, as it were, the grave kindliness and hand- 
some outlines of his face. From under her sunbonnet, 
she had covertly dispatched toward him inquiring glances 
which hid themselves like cautious scouts slipping through 
prairie grass. 

After that, she had found him coming under the influ- 
ence of Mrs. Gradley, not so wholly or so abjectly as 
Rodney Bates, not so unreservedly as all the world seemed 
to come, but still, she thought, with a loss of something 
of his fine liberty. She had almost despaired at the fear 
that he was to be quite lost — but somehow he had strug- 
gled through the enmeshing net of falsehood — the danger 
was past — he was still her hero. 

Had he not believed in her without a word? In this 
wilderness, out of the loneliness of years, she had come so 
suddenly upon flowers of faith, that her heart was still 
filled with a great joy, a great' wonder. It made her feel 
strong; she thought perhaps power might be given her 


124 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


to persuade even her father of her innocence. She would 
try once more — she started up, and, despite her fatigue, 
hurried toward the cabin. 

She did not cross the field unobserved. 

Mrs. Gradley, finding her freed from the tree to which 
she had beem bound, had hurried homeward that she 
might speak to Giles Gradley before the girl’s return. 
As she came over the brow of the plateau, she saw Norris 
at the other end of the level expanse. She quickened her 
steps — in vain; Norris vanished in the doorway. 

At sight of Mrs. Gradley, Rodney Bates leaped to his 
feet — his listless air changed to one of eager alertness. 
He hastened forward. 

She was impatient at being delayed, even angry, for she 
felt the need of striking the blow before Norris could make 
an impression; yet she hid her real feeling, and was so 
careful to show no sign of annoyance, that she appeared 
even more gracious than her wont. 

He made excuses to delay her by his side, excuses so 
absurd that he knew she could not think them real; and 
he fancied that, because she pretended to believe, it proved 
them the better friends. When he was with her, his 
thoughts and desires did not extend beyond the problem 
of protracting that happiness — when they were apart, 
his speculation was bent upon bringing them together. 
As yet, he meant no harm, he did not fancy to himself 
any future; but the Beautiful Woman meant to him, all 
the warmth and light, all the flowers and music of life. 


OF THE OZARKS 


125 


His undisguised admiration pleased her, and she found 
the simplicity of his devotion amusing, but this evening, 
his admiration of her hunting costume, and his reminis- 
cences of their first meeting, fell upon unresponsive ears. 
He thought her weary, and begged her to take a good 
rest — 

“Although,” he added, with a melancholy smile, “it 
is a terrible sacrifice to send you away from me.” 

She flashed back an answering smile, but her brow was 
not serene. 

As she passed on, Bates watched her hungrily. Some- 
times, when the breeze was from the right quarter, the 
boughs of an intervening apple tree would dip, and he 
could have a last glimpse of her wonderful form, just as 
it vanished within the cabin. It had happened so, more 
than once; but now, the breeze denied him, and the apple 
tree held its boughs stiff, as in mockery. It meant so 
much to him to be given that last glimpse of fluttering 
skirts and twinkling feet! He sighed, and sank into his 
chair with darkened face, for the delight he had felt at 
her coming was not of that nature which finds a mellow 
aftermath in memory. 

As Mrs. Gradley burst into the cabin, she supposed 
she would find Norris waiting there with a complaint to 
make to her father ; the black horse was not in the yard, 
so it seemed certain that Giles had not yet come home. 
However, her swift glances in search of Norris found, 
instead, the motionless form of Norris’s father. 


126 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


He looked up quietly from the book in his hand. 

“Giles!” She stopped short. 

“You are surprised, I believe,” he remarked, looking 
down, again. 

“Then — you are at home!” 

“Fortunately.” 

She came to him swiftly. “Has anything happened?” 

He closed the book and replied in a thin, restrained 
voice: “Oh, no, nothing at all. Some girls tied my 
daughter to a tree and left her to stand there till nearly 
dead from weariness. Then they went to tell you, but 
you didn’t free her. It was nothing. She deserves it all.” 

Fear showed in her eyes, as one hand unconsciously 
clenched itself against her bosom. “Then — then Norris 
has been talking to you?” 

He did not answer. 

She caught her breath, realizing that she faced a strug- 
gle. It was not the first time she had been forced to 
fight, as it were, for her very existence, since he seemed 
always ready to follow any avenue of escape back to Nor- 
ris. Between the two women, alliance was impossible — 
the triumph of either meant the downfall of the other, 
but this, the man did not realize — he desired them both. 

Presently he lifted his head to look at her from under 
heavy brows. “You came in a hurry. Must I flatter 
myself by supposing that you suspected you’d find me 
here?” 

“You are usually at the store, at this time of day.” 


OF THE OZARKS 


127 


“After today, I may be anywhere, at any time. So be 
warned !” 

“Be warned? If What do you mean? Was there 
ever a time of any day when I was not glad to see you?” 

“How can I tell, Kate? It is something I do not 
know.” His massive head showed almost black against 
the waning window-light. 

He added presently, “You thought you’d find Norris 
here. What did you mean to say to her?” He threw 
down the book with violence, and started up. “Why did 
you leave her fastened to that tree? Why do you hate 
her?” 

“Giles!” she gasped, shrinking back, afraid. 

“If she tried to kill you, you’re still alive. If she had 
harmed you, I’m the one to inflict punishment.” His voice 
rose threateningly; “I say, why did you leave her there?” 

“Listen to me, Giles, I’ll tell you — but listen!” Her 
voice was appealing like that of a child. Not formed in 
the depths of the woman’s magnificent bust, the accents 
were high-timbred, leaping light-tired from the exquisite 
lips as if fresh-born from their moisture. 

His disfiguring scowl faded away, but his face was still 
cold and set, as he grasped her wrist. “Well — I am listen- 
ing.” 

She met his gaze unflinchingly. “Norris was tied to 
the tree — yes, she told the truth about that. The girls 
did come and tell me, and I went in a hurry to set her 
f ree — but I was more than a mile away. When I reached 


128 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


the spot, some one was already there — Mr. Walcott. I 
looked for Norris, but the girls hadn’t given precise direc- 
tions, and she wasn’t there. I left Mr. Walcott to hunt, 
and when I came to the tree, he had already found her 
in her disgrace.” 

“So she tells me.” 

“I didn’t intrude upon them, as they seemed very well 
acquainted, with a great deal to say to each other. The 
last I saw, he was carrying her in his arms. I think they 
are lovers, for I know he kissed her bare arm — lovers like 
we used to be, Giles — ” 

“God forbid !” he cried out, and the words sounded like 
an oath. 

She grew white and clenched her teeth to hold back 
a rush of words that would have angered him. By a ter- 
rible effort, she remained gentle and tenderly reproachful 
—“You can say that to me, Giles! You can say that even 
to yourself? Did I not give up everything for you, dear 
one? And didn’t you give up everything for me?” 

“Yes!” His whisper was a hiss. “Yes! And it was so 
much — Let me not think of what I have given up. Let 
us not think of it, Kate. Yes! We have both thrown our- 
selves away — my honor and position, also yours. — Kate, 
though we should have everything else on earth, there’s 
one thing forever gone — honor!” 

“Giles, dear, you and I care nothing for names. Honor 
is a word. You have me, I have you, and we are the 
world.” 


OF THE OZARKS 


129 


“But Kate — my God! this flesh crumbles to dust — then 
what remains but honor? Don’t you understand, child, 
that in this world, nothing is immortal but words! Honor 
is a word, indeed — but it can never be spoken of you and 
me.” 

“And if we are not immortal, what then? We can only 
live one life at a time ; if there’s another life, we shall live 
it when it comes.” She drew closer, speaking with great 
rapidity. " This is our life, Giles, I am the same you 
loved years ago. Why do you speak of death when the 
flesh has neither crumbled, nor shown signs of decay? 
Remember our first meeting in your office, you at your 
desk, I at my typewriter. You had a great speech to make 
— and just think! it didn’t matter to me at all! You 
were only my employer. I was to you only the girl to be 
paid wages. But after weeks passed, one day I noticed 
that when you handed me your briefs your hand had a 
strange way of lingering against mine — Giles this is the 
same hand — see how it nestles in yours!”. 

He did not draw away. 

Her words seemed to catch fire, and rush forward to 
devour all obstacles: “One day, you asked for the rose 
from my hair — did I give it to you? Try to think — did 
I give it to you? No! and that hurt me worse than it did 
you, I am sure. Still, I didn’t know what it meant. Did 
you? No, you only knew that I was I, that was all. 
How interested I began to be in copying your articles, in 
going to hear your speeches — and how excited we were 


130 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


at the primary — it was not only your one object in life, 
it was also my one object in life — for you to go to Con- 
gress!” 

“Ah, Kate, if—” 

“But wait. Then the morning you came into the office, 
when I heard you stop behind my chair, when I waited, 
trembling for I knew not what — why did I tremble? I 
felt your hand on my hair — this is the same hair, darling, 
lift your hand as you did that day — here, this place — 
now. Oh, I’ll not draw away as I did then — And the 
next day, for it was the next day — oh, you know very 
well it was the next day, the day before the Convention 
— yes, I see you are thinking of it ! Giles, you can never 
forget that, you never can, you never can! I couldn’t 
draw away, that time, I was too happy, I could only quiver 
in your arms — these arms — hold me, Giles — while you 
kissed me — kiss me now, Giles, as you did then, so madly 
— like a storm all at once let loose. You told me — how 
you said it! — that you loved me — loved — as if you could 
kill me if I didn’t love in return — but oh, I did, I had 
before that. These are the same lips you kissed, sweet- 
heart, this is the same voice telling you that Kate loves 
you with whatever soul she has, and would defy hell 
itself to go with you and be with you as long as there is 
life. I left God to go with you — Giles, Giles! will you 
ever shut me out of your heaven ?” 

“There, there, Kate, you mustn’t tremble so — ” 

“How can I but tremble ? I am about to lose you, to be 


OF THE OZARKS 


131 


cast into outer darkness because you are done with me — 
to be trampled under the mad rush of the world that never 
pities a woman like me.” 

“But Kate, you know that I love you.” 

“I know you loved me once,” she panted. 

“No, now ! I gave up all for you. I have buried myself 
here in this accursed wilderness for your sake.” 

“Then if you love me, kiss me, and tell me so. I am 
yours.” 

He kissed her with fierce intensity. 

“Giles, if you could kill me loving me, that’s the way 
I’d want to die. My Giles — my husband!” 

“Hush, Kate,” he whispered, bending over her. 

“And why not? Whose husband are you, then? You 
belong to me — to me!” 

“Yes,” he answered slowly, “Body and soul, Kate; body 
and soul!” 

She pressed her cheek against his. “But why do you say 
that in so strange a tone?” she pleaded. 

“It calls for strange tones, Kate, when a man gives his 
soul to a woman. Souls, you know, belong to Somebody- 
else.” 

“We don’t believe all that, dear. My soul is myself, 
and myself does belong to you. My soul sees no farther, 
no deeper, than your love. When I die, you’ll have no 
further use for me, nor I for my soul, so it will be, Good- 
by, Soul, when we two part!” 

“I told my soul goodby, five years ago,” remarked Giles. 


132 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


Suddenly he pressed her, with almost cruel violence, to 
his heart. “You are so beautiful, Kate, so exquisitely 
formed, so devinely fashioned — and you are all mine, 
truly mine?” 

“Giles!” 

“Then let Rodney Bates crawl at these adorable, per- 
fect little feet — let him crawl there, poor cur, since you 
are wholly mine!” 

Her rippling mellow laugh was one of joyful relief. 
He, too, laughed, and looked younger than before their 
recent alienation. It was increasingly difficult to win 
him back from his gloomy moods, but each conquest seemed 
most complete. He resumed his chair by the window, and 
she sat upon his knee, her arms about him. 

A shadowy form appeared at the inner door — Norris 
had come to spread the table. Mrs. Gradley looked, and 
while watching her, bent to imprint a lingering kiss upon 
Gradley’s lips. When her beautiful head was proudly 
lifted, he put the clinging form from him, and rose. 

“Norris — ” he grasped her by the arm and drew her 
to the window that he might examine her face. 

Out of the long darkness of her sorrow, shone the steady 
light of a daughter’s fidelity. As he looked into the dark 
eyes, the flush left his thin cheeks, his lips grew thin, his 
form shrank slightly. 

“Norris, you must never speak to young Walcott again, 
since he is a stranger — not, at least, until I introduce 
him.” 


OF THE OZARKS 


133 


“Yes, father,” she answered in a low voice, her eyes 
steadfast. 

He looked at her doubtfully, thinking that after the 
young man’s act of mercy, she might find compliance diffi- 
cult. “You understand?” 

“Yes, father; it is your wish.” 

“It is my command.” 

“Your commands are my wishes,” Norris said, simply. 

He hesitated, then spoke with great gentleness: “My 
daughter, this is for your own sake.” 

Norris smiled, faintly. 

Kate was watching them with burning eyes — her tri- 
umph would have been greater, had Norris staid away; 
there stood the ever-present menace to her happiness. She 
w r as chilled by her daily doubts and fears. One of them 
would, in the end, gain undisputed mastery over Giles 
Gradley. But which one? — the woman of great beauty 
and boundless love, or the ugly child — thus Kate thought 
of Norris — exiled to the outer confines of dreary servitude? 


CHAPTER XV 

WILL THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN GO TO THE DANCE? 

I N the city, one’s thoughts are touched with ever vary- 
ing motion. The very succession of streetcars, each 
with its different picture of humanity, affects, how- 
ever unconsciously, the hurried observer. Though en- 
gulfed in some slough of mental distress, he cannot but 
see the gay designs on the billboards, and though thrilling 
with supreme happiness, there are a thousand sights and 
sounds to offer annoyance. Thus the color of desire is 
rendered less intense, the crystal of the will is clouded ; 
factory-life intrudes upon one’s marriage, and the funeral 
procession is pursued by street-calls and careless laughter. 

In the wilderness, it is far otherwise. Trees change so 
slowly from green to gold and brown, and then to black, 
that he who dwells among them, seems changing even 
more rapidly. All about suggest a lingering, a delay in 
thought and purpose. Why should one hurry? The 
streams of the Ozarks glide along with such transparency, 
that one’s desires grow clear and deep, touched by a sense 
of repose. If a great emotion floats out of the cool mystery 
of the virgin forests, it lingers in the soul, there to grow 
and strengthen as if time were eternity. The birds sing 
the songs of one’s childhood, and the leaves under foot are 
134 


OF THE OZARKS 


135 


those of past years, while the blue sky, created anew at 
every sunrise, promises eternal youth. 

Days passed before Claude made his next attempt to see 
Norris. Her appeal to him had not been in vain; since 
he could not help, he was determined not to make her con- 
dition more miserable,' and he felt that any show of friend- 
liness on his part would incense Mrs. Gradley. 

He thought of these two women day and night, but it 
was the younger who held over him the greater sway. 
Mrs. Gradley fulfilled, at least in a physical manner, his 
ideals of the perfect woman — ah, there was the superb 
form, well-rounded, there w T as the face to charm, there, 
in short, was sculptured perfection found in warm flesh; 
and it was this physical beauty that had attracted him 
with almost irresistible power. On the other hand, 
Norris was thin, so very thin — 

“Poor Norris!” Claude said, aloud, a smile of tender 
recollection lighting his face. “Wish I could see her 
again — and I will, too, as soon as I dare.” 

That is a good thing about the wilderness — one can 
talk to the trees ; nobody would dream of vocalizing inmost 
aspiration to lampposts. 

“Glad I’m not in Kansas City, now,” cried Claude, 
casting his fly and wading into the water. “Still, I’ll be 
going back there, one of these days — summer is nearly 
ended. Shall I leave Norris here?” 

He fished impatiently. 

“If I do — if I should never see her again, she’d haunt 


136 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


me, thin, dark ghost with big black eyes all alight with — 
with something very pretty — the little spirit would be 
waving me back to the Ozarks, all the time. If there are 
illusions, I must brush them away. Best way to come 
to a friendly, matter-of-fact understanding with a girl, 
is to have a good long talk with her — alone.” 

He reeled in the line without waiting for a bite — “She 
interests me,” he observed, reflectively. 

He waded to shore, then looked at his rod — “Why, 
hello! Where are you going?” he addressed himself, “I 
thought you came here to fish!” 

He laughed, and splashed back into the stream, remark- 
ing with a smile that he had never before forgotten the 
reason for standing in cold water with a rod in his hand. 

A day or two later, he visited the scene of the boring, 
not that he cared about oil or minerals, but that he hoped 
to catch some fleeting glimpse of Norris from afar. 

“Young man,” Rodney Bates said, that evening at the 
campfire — Claude had been disappointed in his expedi- 
tion — “ getting a little thin, eh? How’s housekeeping?” 

“I threw something together for breakfast — put the 
scraps in my pocket for lunch — ” 

“No supper?” 

“I’m tired of skillets and pans; I’m going to wait till 
I’m hungry.” 

“Old fellow, that won’t do, you know. Come over to 
Gradley’s to eat your meals — they invite you there. You 
need a woman’s cooking.” 


OF THE OZARKS 


137 


‘‘Man cannot live by bread alone,” observed Claude 
sententiously. He would never seat himself at the father’s 
board, while the daughter served as a despised menial. 

After a long silence, Bates said, “Man cannot live by 
bread alone — that’s true enough; Shakespeare was a wise 
old guy, eh? Well, a man can’t — not if he remains a 
man . And what’s the use of you and me, if we’re not 
men? We have the shape — shan’t we be the real thing? 
Look here, Claude, if I spend my life pretending I’m some- 
thing I’m not, is that manly? If I look through bars with- 
out trying to break them down, am I a man? Shall I 
sit in my penned-up corner of the universe, always want- 
ing to get out, but quietly eating my bread ? That saying 
is as true as life; no, a man cannot live by bread — that 
isn’t what it means, to live. And I’ve made up my mind 
to drop hypocrisy.” 

Claude was startled by the other’s vehemence. “What 
hypocrisy?” 

“There are not different kinds of hypocrisy,” returned 
Bates; “it’s only one thing — pretending to be somebody 
else. I mean to be Rodney Bates, from this night.” 

“And why not? So far as my knowledge goes, Rodney 
Bates is a very fine fellow.” 

“Your knowledge doesn’t go far enough. I’m a changed 
man, Claude — a changed man — Lord, what a change!” 
For an instant, a curious plaintiveness sounded in his tone, 
then his voice grew almost rough: “Be yourself — it’s 
your only excuse for cumbering the ground ; other people 


138 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


are taking up the rest of the space. Claude, I have a 
desire so strong, that it has grown to be myself ; if I deny 
it, I’m not myself. But I purpose to live, I tell you, and 
the only way to live is to carry your desire to its end.” 

“Our desires are not ourselves,” Claude said, uneasily. 

“Claude, if I want a thing till the want swallows up all 
other wants, why shouldn’t I go after it? And if I’m 
stronger than others, why not take it? Isn’t that the sur- 
vivor’s right? I don’t mean by cunning, but by force. 
If the owner is stronger, let him kill you ; but at all events, 
go to the combat.” 

“You don’t believe all that, Rod.” 

“Don’t I? Don’t I?” He smoked in silence. “Well 
— perhaps I don’t quite believe it — yet.” 

The next day Claude again sought Gradley’s land, mean- 
ing to go every day until he found Norris. Luck was 
with him, this afternoon — Norris could be seen from across 
the plateau; she was passing in and out of the shed, pick- 
ing her way among the little turkeys in her quest for fresh 
eggs. 

He thought she saw him, but the sudden droop of her 
bonnet prevented certainty. He looked intently, finding 
a pleasing picture in her quick movements as she lightly 
flitted to and fro, her basket on her arm. 

To explain his presence there, he went over to the drill, 
and watched the work a long time, — until Norris finally 
disappeared in the barn, to be seen no more. 

“Say!” Peter Poff addressed him, almost at once, 


OF THE OZARKS 


139 


there’s to be another hop at Bud’s, Friday after next. The 
Little Fiddler’ll be there again; you seen him at work 
once, and you know how it is did. Better come — the 
young folks taken to you surprising, the last time. You 
too, Mr. Bates, you’d better come over, your own self.” 

Bates was abstracted in manner. “A hop, you say?” 

“Yap. Now you be there, both gents, for neither of 
you has had any fun, since to the Ozarks here you come. 
And they’s going to be such doings at this lark as scarcely 
ever was saw in the neighborhood. A medicine-man has 
got a date to reach Ozarka the day previous, and people 
will come in droves to buy of his liniments, he being a 
knowed character and his liniments inspiring, whether 
applied to hoss or man ; and so far as that goes, to woman 
either.” 

“Liniment isn’t what Mr. Bates needs,” remarked 
Claude drily. 

“Hold on, that liniment talk was just to lubricate the 
tale I got to tell. This here medicine-man, traveling about 
the country in a covered wagon, he’s got a little organ 
with him, a real Sunday-school organ what he plays on 
and sings to, to cluster up his crowd before ready to 
advance his liniments for sale. Well, we’ve engaged that 
there organ and him to play it at the dance, the Little 
Fiddler to fiddle according. Man . , but it’ll be a time! 
Now you come, and get right in the thick of the doings. 
Don’t come to look on critical, for you never get your 
money’s worth on the outside of anything in this world. 


1-10 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


I’m here to contend that fun ain’t on the rim of nothing, 
like mire on a tire ; fun is to be in it and of it and through 
it, which my never having been to school but a very few 
days and being as you would say in a state of nature, makes 
it of a hardship for me to put in words the ideas that’s 
working in my brain. Which I mean is, the real fun is 
always at the hub.” 

Peter Poff could hardly have found two men less in- 
clined at that moment for a social “hop.” Nevertheless, 
the thought came to Rodney Bates, soon after Claude’s 
departure, that it might afford an opportunity of keen 
enjoyment. The thought was suggested by seeing Mrs. 
Gradley approaching. 

The young man who had no desire to meet her, had 
gone rather hurriedly and she had observed his quickened 
footsteps with slumberous distrust in her brown eyes. 

In those brown eyes, however, Bates saw only beauty 
and tenderness, and as she rested upon his campchair, he 
beamed with happiness. He said rather abruptly — 

“By the way, Mrs. Gradley, have you ever gone to a 
dance in this part of the country?” 

She never had. 

“Would you like it? Say, you’d like it! It would be 
unusual and queer — such an experience — it would be a 
change for you — do go! I am going, and if Mr. Gradley 
doesn’t care for such things — I imagine he doesn’t, — why 
might you not go with me? I’ll try to show you a good 
time.” He was as eager as a boy. 


OF THE OZARKS 


141 


She looked at him with remote thoughtfulness. 

He found her loveliness bewitching when she looked 
deep into his eyes, not seeming to see him at all, for while 
it put him far away, it seemed to remove him only that he 
might be drawn more irresistibly, to the breaking down 
of every barrier. 

In truth, she hardly thought of Rodney Bates, as she 
gazed at him so intently; her mind was busy with her 
husband. No incident in life was of the slightest import- 
ance to her, except in so far as it might affect Giles. She 
was wondering if there was more danger than advantage 
in pursuing her friendship with Bates — whether the jeal- 
ousy with which she might inspire her husband would 
swing him too far from her influence, or bind him to her 
irrevocably. 

After some hesitation, she said, “Fm sure he’d not care 
to go.” 

“Then — but he couldn’t object to my taking you. I 
shall be there — at the hop; but it’ll be no good for me 
unless you go.” 

She flashed a smile at him. “You may ask,” she agreed. 

The first opportunity for asking came at the evening 
meal. Soon after Gradley had seated himself, his wife 
introduced the subject — 

“There’s to be a dance at Bud Poff’s, Friday week, and 
Peter says the Little Fiddler is coming down from Joplin. 
Would you like to go, Giles?” 

“Would you like to go?” he returned. 


142 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


“Well — yes, I want to go.” 

Gradley turned to Bates: “And should you like it?” 

“Immensely! From what Claude told me of the last 
one, I feel it’s something not to be missed. And Peter 
says the Little Fiddler — ” 

“Would it be convenient for you to take Mrs. Grad- 
ley?” 

“Perfectly convenient.” 

“Why, good ! How lucky that you have no other 
engagement !” 

A shadowy form paused at the inner door, as if listening. 

Mrs. Gradley turned toward her contemptuously. 
“Well — what do you want, girl?” Before Giles, she 
never called Norris “servant.” 

Norris slipped away, without replying. 

After silent brooding, Giles Gradley looked at his wife 
fixedly. “I never suspected your wanting to go to these 
affairs,” he remarked. 

She smiled demurely, knowing exactly how he felt. “I 
want to go, now,” she said with admirable simplicity. 

Gradley frowned thoughtfully. 

Bates was overjoyed. 

That night he communicated the news to Claude, but 
the latter only said, “Then I shall go, too.” 

“Weren’t you going, anyway? If not, why on my 
account?” 

“Bates, it’s no pleasure to me, seeing others dance; and 
I don’t want to dance. But if you take Mrs. Gradley to 


OF THE OZARKS 


143 


that hop, do you suppose Giles Gradley is going to stay 
at home?” 

“I don’t care where Giles Gradley goes — ” 

“Which simply proves that you need me to look after 
you,” observed the young man. 


CHAPTER XVI 


THE SHADOW IN THE POOL 

The next day Claude was again hovering about Grad- 
ley’s place, ostensibly fishing. Of course there was neither 
stream nor fish in the back pasture, and he could not 
have meant to angle for turkeys — but that is where he 
was, when he came face to face with Norris. 

She had just come around a corner of the barn; taken 
completely by surprise, she stopped as if panic-stricken. 

“Norris!” Claude exclaimed, hurrying forward — “Nor- 
ris! What is it? Aren’t you going to speak to me?” 

She could only look at him with bated breath. 

“Dear little Brave Heart — aren’t we friends?” 

Apparently not; for without a word she darted into 
the barn, closing the heavy door behind her. Evidently, 
then, she had really seen him, the day before, yet had 
refused to look. 

For a moment he stood motionless, his cheeks burning 
with resentment, which passed swiftly to mere disappoint- 
ment, as he left the plateau. Something in her eyes had 
told him she was glad to see him, and he persuaded him- 
self that she had run away fearing her step-mother. 

How was that obstacle ever to be avoided? He was 


144 


OF THE OZARKS 


145 


firmly resolved to see Norris, though what he should say 
when they met had not been determined. 

He felt an intense longing to know Norris, to deepen 
their friendship; and as this desire strengthened, the diffi- 
culties in the way grew more apparent. Still, there must 
be some way to reach his purpose, and that night he gave 
himself up to the forming of plans, none of which proved 
of much value, on deliberate reflection. 

In order to come to a definite course of action, he 
slipped from the tent, while Bates was asleep, and walked 
for miles in earnest thought. 

It was at the margin of Glassy Pool that he was startled 
out of his abstraction by a rather extraordinary happening. 

Glassy Pool was a circular lake of considerable extent, 
for the most part shallow, and always so clear that in 
daylight the sandy bottom could be distinctly seen. It 
was formed by a spring gushing from the foot of a per- 
pendicular cliff along the brow of which grew tall straight 
post oaks. The shadow of the bluff was thrown upon 
the margin of the lake in so black a shadow that it was 
difficult to distinguish where land and water met, and 
fringing this black mark were the shadow-trees, their 
shadoV-leaves quivering over the sheet of silver. 

Claude had paused to admire the strikingly exact out- 
lines of these reflections, when a strange shadow suddenly 
took its place among those of the post oaks. 

It was just for a moment that the object which had 
produced this visiting shade, lingered at the brow of the 


146 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


cliff; it must have seen Claude as soon as he saw the 
shadow, for when he looked up, it had already vanished. 
What it was, he could not imagine, though it had re- 
sembled a human, form. 

What puzzled him most was that, unlike the other 
shadows, it had been blurred in outline as if that which 
had produced it was a mingling of matter with something 
ethereal, impalpable. It could not have been a wild ani- 
mal, for it had stood upright like a man. Yes, now that 
he reflected, it had resembled an Indian with feathered 
hair. 

He gave a start as he remembered the rumors of the 
Green Witch. Could it have been that mysterious crea- 
ture who was said to masquerade in a dress of leaves? 

He waited a long time for the shadow to reappear, but 
it did not show itself again. The bluff was too steep 
to climb, and he was not sufficiently interested to make 
a detour in order to examine the heights. Whether the 
Green Witch was a mischievous girl trying to frighten 
her friends, or a mad woman who had as yet eluded pur- 
suit, she had failed to take much hold upon Claude’s 
imagination, crowded as it was with images of Norris. 

Norris! — Ah, there was the cause of his midnight stroll- 
ings, and as he finally made his way back to camp, his 
plan was formed. Despite Mrs. Gradley, he would go 
boldly to the cabin, he would ask to see the one who had 
saved his life and whom he had twice saved from the 
malicious sport of cruel enemies. At the same time he 


OF THE OZARKS 


147 


would respect her entreaty not to make her life harder 
by useless interference. 

“I must be discreet,” he told himself, “but I mean to 
talk to Norris as a friend, face to face.” 

Accordingly, the next morning, after a very hurried 
breakfast, he set forth for Ozarka, meaning to go at once 
to Gradley’s store. He would frankly ask the honor of 
a formal introduction to Norris. Of course, Mrs. Grad- 
ley would not be mentioned; Claude had been invited to 
take his meals at the cabin, and if he went home with 
Gradley to dinner, the father could not very well refuse 
his request, after the incident of the tree. 

With these reflections, and with this hope, Claude fol- 
lowed the now familiar trail over the hills. 


CHAPTER XVII 


MYSTERY OF THE LITTE FIDDLER 

H E had hardly left camp before Claude reflected 
that he was starting out at a preposterously early 
hour, in his eager desire to make Norris’s acquaint- 
ance formally. There was no use to accost Giles Gradley 
until time for the merchant to leave the store for home, 
hence, when he reached Ozarka, he passed between its two 
buildings without a pause. 

Five or six hours were upon his hands, and being unpro- 
vided with means of fishing or hunting, he wandered aim- 
lessly among the hills till the recollection of Cave Spring 
gave him definite direction. He had not been in its vicin- 
ity since the night of the dance, and it suddenly attracted 
him as the place where Norris had saved him from a 
frightful catastrophe. 

In the warm sunlight, the towering hill with its gush- 
ing spring, its giant arch supporting the stone chamber, 
and the rush of the stream as it dashed itself into the 
valley as if frightened at the sudden glare of open sky, 
lost something of the mysterious effect he had discovered 
in the moonlight. But as he climbed the slippery 'stones, 
the chill breath of the open mouth was weird in its sug- 
gestion of death. 


148 


OF THE OZARKS 


149 


From the heights, bright verdure already flecked with 
autumn colors, shone as a crown of beauty to offset the 
white face of the cliff. Far below, the trees were shaken 
in their leafy retreats by the coming and going of bril- 
liantly colored birds. But where he stood, there was no 
suggestion of life save in the passionate hurry of the new- 
born mountain-stream; and as he stared into the cold 
recess, his eyes instinctively sought the spot where a huge 
stone had been rolled against the crevice, after the mad- 
man had made his escape. 

The scene was such a one as fascinates without warm- 
ing the heart. Claude remained a long time on the ledge 
before the cave, and at last he had a most singular im- 
pulse. Why should that stone have been rolled against 
the only part of the crevice in the wall that was wide 
enough to admit a human form? It was certain that no 
one would seek to explore behind the wall whence the 
stream issued, for even if the opening remained, one could 
not enter without crawling in the icy stream; on the 
other hand, should one accidentally fall into the pit from 
above, as he had almost fallen, the only hope of safety 
would be found here. The huge stone, therefore, could 
do no good, and might cause the death of some unfortun- 
ate creature. 

Claude’s impulse was to remove the stone; and as it 
rested in the water, he hoped to be able to dislodge it, 
aided by the stream. He made the attempt several times, 
but without success, and was obliged to return dripping 


150 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


and chilled to the outer air. A few nights before, the 
first frost of autumn had invaded the rights of summer 
usually held sacred in that region — a frost so early and 
unexpected that in Ozarka one heard of nothing else ; but 
already the balmy climate had resumed its sway, and 
the young man, though wet enough, was glowing with 
heat when he stood upon the brow of the hill. 

Knowing so well the position of Mad Man’s Pit, he 
went to it without fear, then threw himself upon the 
ground to stare over its edge. The round opening in the 
ground presented no alarming appearance in the daylight. 
One did not gaze down into black space, but on the con- 
trary, upon a slanting rock, which looked like a path that 
might lead to some secure, subterranean retreat. Had he 
not been warned, the young man might have dropped 
himself through the opening, and, indeed, had he done 
so, he might have gained a footing at the start. The 
suction was strong, but assuredly could not have pulled 
him against his strength; at least, not at this point. It 
must be that farther down, the way grew steeper and 
the suction irresistible. 

“What a pity,” he thought, “that they didn’t roll a 
stone over this pit, instead of into Cave Spring!” 

As he stood musing, he was suddenly startled by a 
strange sweet sound — strange because heard here, so far 
from human habitation, sweet because produced by a 
practiced hand on an excellent violin. 

He stared at the thicket from which Norris had called 


OF THE OZARKS 


151 


to him on the night of his rescue. The sound came from 
the other side of that dense field of matted undergrowth. 
Had the Little Fiddler come down from Joplin, and was 
he practicing in the wilderness? Yes — those delicate 
shadings of liquid tones could come only; from the fine 
discriminating touch of the musician of the Ozarks. 

Claude had heard only a few measures when a rustling 
in the bushes attracted his attention, and almost imme- 
diately there was absolute silence. Had his presence been 
detected ? There came the sound of hurrying footsteps — 
some one was fleeing toward the south. Well, musicians 
are queer fellows, he told himself, and certainly he had 
no right to complain. As he stared after the diminishing 
sounds, he caught sight presently of a man’s hat, and one 
shoulder of the fugitive — a slender shoulder, slight as that 
of the Little Fiddler whom he had regarded curiously in 
Bud Poff’s barn. 

“There he goes,” muttered Claude in disgust, “the 
Little Fiddler with his fiddle! He runs like a rabbit, 
as if he imagined I was out hunting, to catch his tunes! 
However, he has a right to keep away from me, but all 
the same, I have a right to explore these thickets.” 

It had occurred to him that behind the thorny wall 
which had once sheltered Norris, there must be some sort 
of clearing where the musician practiced his art. Claude 
started forward, half-resentful. 

There was a quick movement in the bushes. Claude 
whistled below his voice — evidently the Little Fiddler 


152 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


had been performing to an audience. A violinist may 
play as secretly as he pleases; but why should anybody 
come in secret to listen ? 

Claude called, and the rustling sounds grew louder — 
some one was trying to break away to freedom. “Who’s 
there?” he called, feeling his sportsmanship challenged, 
“what do you want? Wait!” 

The sound resolved itself into that of running feet. 

Claude burst into the thicket, careless of thorns, but 
failed to catch the slightest glimpse of the mysterious 
lover of music, a lover so fleet that in spite of grim resolu- 
tion, the young man soon found himself being left behind. 

About a hundred yards distant, the dense copse termin- 
ated at the foot of a hill which stood, as it were, upon 
the back of the hill he had climbed — it rose to a con- 
siderable height, then cut sheer against the sky in a broad 
tableland before it descended, without a break, to lowest 
valley, about a mile away. It was necessary for the fugi- 
tive to climb this hill and cross the skyline, or else double 
back into the thicket. Claude made so much noise in his 
running that escape in the thicket was plainly impossible, 
so the other ran on, and at last came into sight against the 
red background of the hill. 

It was Norris. 

For a moment Claude stopped in amazement, then 
rushed forward with no definite thought but that of over- 
taking her. The discovery of her identity was most un- 
pleasant, and somehow added to his fleetness. She did 


OF THE OZARKS 


153 


not look behind until the plateau was reached, when he 
was so close that it became a question of only a few 
moments before he would be able to reach out his hand 
and stop her. Then she stood still, facing him with glow- 
ing cheeks, her bosom heaving tumultuously, her eyes 
flashing — 

‘‘You mustn’t follow me — I’m going home — I must go 
alone!” 

“But, Norris! Why do you run from me — I can see 
that you knew all the time who it was following!” 

She started away, but finding him close behind, stopped 
abruptly. “Mr. Walcott, I want you to leave me.” 

“And yet you trusted me, Norris.” 

“No — I can’t discuss anything — there’s nothing; but 
you must let me go alone.” 

“Then — I will not let you go alone!” He was very 
determined. 

“But you wouldn’t force yourself upon me when you 
know you are — are — you are not wanted.” 

“Yes, that is what I will do — force myself, if you 
call it so. For there are some questions that I must ask 
you; and when you have told me what I must know, you 
shall go alone, if you like.” 

Her voice was piteous: “But you have no right to 
stop me.” 

“I know that well enough ; some things, it seems, must 
be accomplished by mere force.” 


154 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


“And there is nothing for me to tell you. Please let me 

go.” 

“Yes, you can tell me everything that I want to know; 
and Norris, you shall tell me!” 

She looked at him with frightened eyes, for, uncon- 
sciously, his face had taken on a sternness, and his eyes a 
hardness, both menacing and relentless.” 

“Then — what do you wish to know? Ask me quickly 
- — I dare not stay here, Mr. Walcott. Even at this 
moment she may come — ” 

“In the first place — were you alone with the Little 
Fiddler, just now?” 

“And what in the second place?” she asked, faintly. 

“In the second place — ” his face grew white — “why 
were you there, with him, alone?” 

“And what else do you want to ask, Mr. Walcott?” 

“That is all.” 

“I cannot tell you what you ask. Goodby.” 

“Stop! — then you were with him alone — quite alone?” 

“Well?” Her cheeks suddenly burned, but her eyes 
were steadfast. 

“When you heard me coming, why did he run in one 
direction, and you in another? Or rather, why did you 
run? What was there to hide?” 

She said nothing. 

“Do you know, Norris, what would be the effect, if 
I told your father or Mrs. Gradley what I have dis- 
covered ?” 


OF THE OZARKS 


155 


Her voice was hardly audible, “Yes, I know.” 

“Then what do you suppose is its effect on me? I 
ask nothing but your own explanation. I’ll believe any- 
thing you tell me — but I do ask you to say a word — some- 
thing to explain the presence of that man.” 

Norris groaned, speaking to herself — “He won’t let 
me go ... he will keep me here until it’s too 
late!” 

“Yes, I’ll let you go in a moment — but wait; I must 
show you something down there — ” 

He made a sweeping movement with his hand to in- 
dicate the distant landscape. 

They were at the margin of the plateau. Looking 
down and away, a great valley was to be seen, peacefully 
sleeping in the embrace of the Ozark hills whose surfaces 
were diversified by the oval swells peculiar to the region, 
each bearing a grove of slender and lofty trees. The suc- 
cession of these mounds of vivid moss with their leafy 
branches of already-changing colors, presented an out- 
look of wonderfully varied and enchanting beauty. Above 
the treetops of each swell were to be seen the brown boles 
that supported the next terrace of leaves. The sunshine 
flooded each green knoll with radiant splendor, but be- 
tween the curves nestled, like a substance, the cool fra- 
grant gloom. 

Claude and Norris stood upon the highest point of this 
vast amphitheatre, looking down upon an arena whose 


156 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


tier above tier of giant seats descended to the remote grass- 
carpeted solitudes. 

“That,” Claude said, in a low voice, “is very beautiful, 
is it not? And sweet and pure; do you not find in it 
something divine?” 

She turned from the panorama of green and brown and 
red and gold, to look into his face with sudden shyness. 

“All that,” he pointed vaguely, “tells much better than 
words can tell, what my thought of you has been. Do 
you understand?” 

The earnest dark eyes were suddenly flooded with tears. 
“Yes,” she whispered. 

“You have nothing to say to me, Norris?” 

“Nothing.” The reply was as faint as the whisper 
from the valley. 

“Very well,” his voice was quiet and contained, “you 
may go now, Norris — you may go on, alone.” 

But as she obediently started down the hill, it seemed 
to him that all the beauty of that landscape was being 
withdrawn with her, wrapping her in its mantle, leav- 
ing him to stare out upon the bald, stark unloveliness of 
a future without Norris. With her back to him, he 
thought he had never so clearly before seen the steadfast 
light in her pure eyes — was it never to shine upon him 
again? Yes, once more, at least — he hurried after her. 

She heard him coming, and turned with folded hands, 
as if waiting, submissive, for some tempest to pass. 

“Norris — ” his words flowed impetuously, — “You 


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157 


shan’t go till I tell you that — that I believe in you still. 
Perhaps you’ve been forbidden to talk to me — perhaps 
the Little Fiddler is your lover — but, anyway, I want 
you to know that my faith in you is still strong. I shall 
go away from the Ozarks because — because you already 
have your lover. I shall go as soon as I get used to the 
thought of never seeing you again. And remember, you’ll 
always be to me like these sloping hills.” 

As she made no reply, he took her hand and pointed — 
“You see how the pure sweet air seems to lift them up 
out of solemn space — and those green earth-shields, 
touched with gold . . . your soul is something like 

that, I know. But it was so strange, finding you alone 
with that man ... and it’s so strange, now, when 
I think that I came too late, that I’m not to be the one 
to rescue you from this lonely existence.” 

“You don’t understand,” she faltered, her eyes full of 
tears. She pressed his hand, instinctively. 

“I understand that you have not guided my faith one 
step by word or sign — that, indeed, Norris,” he smiled 
affectionately, “you have always thrown obstacles in its 
path. But it’s found its own way to you, it’s not afraid 
of being lost. Do you like it?” 

“Oh, Mr. Walcott!”— with a sob— “that is more to 
me than anything else in the world except— just one 
thing.” 

He smiled again, to banish her tears: “And the ex- 
ception is bigger than the rule?” 


158 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


“But you don’t understand — and I can’t tell you,” she 
lamented. 

“How long have you loved this violinist, Norris? Was 
it before I came?” 

She hesitated. Then, faintly, “Does it matter?” 

“I suppose not — such things are outside of time. Well, 
dear little Brave Heart, so ends my dream of rescuing you 
from the Ozarks — I hardly realized, myself, what an ex- 
ceedingly life-like dream it was! But I’m awake now, oh, 
yes, quite broad-awake !” He laughed, for her melancholy 
face, saddened, as he supposed, by sympathy for his dis- 
appointment, moved him deeply, and the more deeply he 
was moved, the more anxious he was to hide his suffering. 

He was still holding her hand, and before he released 
it, he patted her arm with something of brotherly affec- 
tion — “That dear arm is well, isn’t it? How clumsily I 
wounded it! But are you very sure it is healed? At 
any rate your dress prevents another application of the 
remedy — so I must treat your hand — ” And he kissed her 
hand. 

In her dark cheeks the slumbering roses stirred and 
fluttered their petals, and in her eyes the sparkle of youth’s 
fountain of inexhaustible hope was caught in the light 
of his playful thought; the mouth was still sad, but it 
melted in sensitive response. And then, without saying 
goodby, she left him. 

Claude returned to the plateau and for a long time 


OF THE OZARKS 


159 


lay stretched upon the wild grass, staring fixedly into the 
valley. 

A breeze arose. Sometimes a tree caught it and rustled 
with delight while all about, its less-favored brothers stood 
quite still in envy. Again, all the trees would bend at 
once and the rustle as of a waterfall would rush upward 
to his ears. Occasionally a more venturesome breeze 
would slip down into the amphitheatre of verdure and 
light-flecked shadows, and Claude could mark the passing 
of its invisible feet as it stepped from terrace to terrace 
of variegated leaves — at the foot of the descent it would 
toss and play among the surprised branches, while far 
above, on all sides, motionless trees looked down, won- 
dering at such unseemly mirth. 

But when Claude spoke aloud, it was not to comment 
upon nature — “It would appear, my dear boy, that the 
story of your vacation is closed!” 

At last he started up. “However, I must have a closer 
look at this Little Fiddler. What sort of man does Norris 
love? Yes, I’ll go to the dance.” He called down to the 
rustling trees — “On with the dance!” 

Then his face darkened. “Rodney Bates means to take 
Mrs. Gradley — I wonder if Giles will slip after them? 
If so . . . Yes, I must be there. And if everything 

comes to a crisis, Friday night — well — I’m very much 
afraid there’ll be — the Little Fiddler to pay!” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


THE GREEN WITCH 

I T is sometimes in the exercise of faith that the soul 
attains sublimest self-consciousness, that egotism ap- 
pears most like a virtue. “I believe in your inno- 
cence,” Claude might have told Norris, “in spite of your 
own father’s conviction of your attempted crime — in spite 
of your lonely wanderings in the forest whose object is 
evidently an association with a hidden lover. But I be- 
lieve in you, by the sheer spiritual power to close my 
eyes against apparent proofs of evil.” 

But the atmosphere is too thin for a long continuance 
upon so lofty a peak. Now that Norris was not to be 
seen, nor her voice heard, now that her eyes could not 
shine with gladness because of his fidelity, Claude found 
himself dwelling persistently upon the wild flight of the 
Little Fiddler. Why should Norris’s lover have shown 
a spirit so contemptible? However sincere Norris might 
be, was it not plain that she had chosen an unworthy 
lover ? 

Claude waited for the night of the dance with con- 
suming impatience. Whatever happened, upon one thing 
he was resolved — he and the Little Fiddler should meet 
face to face ; and if he found that the musician had taken 
160 


OF THE OZARKS 


161 


advantage of Norris’s ignorance of the world, if he proved 
to be unworthy, insincere, a man of the world disguised 
in romance to capture a young girl’s fancy, he should be 
stripped of his illusions, and driven from the Ozarks. 

The more Claude reflected upon Norris’s simplicity 
and impulsiveness, the more he was convinced that she 
had been taken advantage of, by this mysterious violinist. 
Friday night would disclose the truth. 

But he could not wait patiently for that night to come. 
By day he found himself feverish with anxiety, disturbed 
by nameless forebodings; and at night he could not sleep. 
Besides, he had never fully sounded his own heart. Was 
he so resolute in his determination to learn the Little 
Fiddler’s real character, for Norris’s sake, or rather for 
his own? And suppose he should find that the musician 
was unworthy — was Claude prepared to take his place as 
a lover? In a word, did he love Norris? 

This was the question that tormented him as, the night 
preceding that set for the dance, he wandered alone in 
the forest, having found his cot intolerable. Was it not 
mere sympathy for a poor girl in misfortune that made 
his heart grow tender when he thought of Gradley’s 
daughter? He conjured up her image before him, and 
inevitably there was the ragged dress, the clumsy shoes, 
the ugly blue that showed her dark face to such disad- 
vantage; and he could see the head cropped short like a 
boy’s, and the shrinking attitude, the hands devoted to 
menial tasks. 


162 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


If the musician proved the rascal his flight from the 
thickets had indicated, and if Norris’s affections could be 
transferred from an unworthy lover to himself — still — was 
she the kind of wdfe to make him happy, the sort of 
girl to introduce to his friends? He was always discon- 
certed by memories of externals when he thought of 
Norris; why was it that when they were together, her 
dress, her heavy shoes, her short hair, her humble station 
were all forgotten, and he seemed to see only the beauty 
of her soul? He asked himself if it indeed required her 
very presence to efface the deep impression made by Mrs. 
Gradley’s enchanting charms, and if it were true that 
when alone, that part of himself was strongest which still 
thrilled to the magic of the Beautiful Woman. 

He knew that those two inner selves were respectively 
influenced by the girl and the woman; that the girl 
touched all that was highest within him, but that the 
woman reached deeper into his fundamental instincts. He 
knew, also, that the woman was cruel and vindictive while 
the girl was sweet and pure, and that the misery of one 
came from the tyranny of the other. In spite of this 
knowledge, Norris grew plainer and slighter of importance 
as the magnificent woman who had subdued Rodney Bates 
and who held Giles Gradley in her power, blossomed 
in his memory. 

How far he had walked before he grew suddenly aware 
of his surroundings he did not know. Evidently he had 
skirted the hill of Cave Spring, and had followed the 


OF THE OZARKS 


163 


ridge that slanted away at an acute angle from the highest 
plateau. He had circled round this ridge and was doub- 
ling back without having been in the least aware of his 
destination. He found himself where he had never been 
before, yet was not lost, since the moon showed, far away, 
as in a white hand with spreading fingers held against a 
darkened hillside, the mouth of Cave Spring. 

Claude held his watch up to catch the light. It was 
twelve o’clock. “You must get some rest, my boy,” he 
said, suddenly discovering that he was tired out from his 
long tramp. “Tomorrow night you are to go to the 
dance.” 

He struck out in the direction which he knew must 
finally bring him to his tent. Presently his ears were 
greeted by the murmur of a waterfall. It sounded louder 
than any hitherto discovered, and he was reminded that 
some one had referred to the Silver Waterfall as larger 
than any in the neighborhood of Cave Spring. Possibly 
the sound that had attracted his attention came from the 
Silver Waterfall. It was not far out of his course, and, 
wearied though he was, he turned aside. 

“I’ll have a look at it,” he observed, “and then I’ll 
never have to see it again. Nothing like doing up the 
natural sights as they fall in your way!” 

When he saw a stream winding along the foot of the 
hill, he knew it must be on its way to the fall, and he 
followed it. The sound grew louder and strangely mus- 
ical. At first he was reminded of tinkling silver, but when 


164 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


the ledge of rock came in sight, over which the smooth 
stream poured, he stopped in amazement. 

Suddenly the waterfall had found a voice — a human 
voice. Words came to him hardly distinguishable in 
tone from the music of the cascade, but words neverthe- 
less. 

Overcoming his first surprise, he advanced cautiously 
among the tall slim trees that grew to the very margin 
of the stream, and when the ledge was reached, he looked 
down with bated breath. Below him were the falls, dash- 
ing in white foam upon the rocks and scattering away in 
a w T ide shallow over the sand. Half-way up the hill that 
rose from the valley to the top of the waterfall one of 
the caves that honeycomb the Ozark hills opened its mouth 
in a dark yawn as if to swallow the moonlight flooding 
the scene. 

Seated on the ledge near this entrance, with her feet 
in the flashing waterfall, was Norris. 

But what a wonderful Norris it was! Claude who 
was directly above her could not at first see her face, 
but as she turned, not toward him, but toward the danc- 
ing sheet of quivering water, transformed by the moon 
to silver-gauze, he could examine her profile, and then 
her full face. 

She was singing to the sound of the waterfall, and her 
words mingled magically with the musical splash and 
hurry of the stream. As it came rolling over the straight 
ledge, the stream sounded in ever changing melody, now 


OF THE OZARKS 


165 


deep and solemn, and again as light and airy as its rain- 
bow spray. And when it thundered on the rocks, or 
chattered among the pebbles, as it boomed with the note 
of tragedy, or laughed in froth, the girl’s voice mingled 
with it, chanting to suit its mood, now tragic and full, 
now light and yet even when light, touched with sadness. 

But at first Claude, though thrilled by the sound of 
her voice, gave no heed to the words, for it seemed as if 
they were of no real meaning, except as expressing the 
soul of the waterfall. It was the wild picture presented 
by Norris that absorbed his every thought. He had found 
the Green Witch. 

That ugly blue dress, the only one in which he had 
ever seen her, had disappeared, patches and all, beneath 
a robe of rustling beauty. At first he thought her clothed 
only in leaves; but a moment’s consideration showed him 
that she had fastened leaves upon her garments, hiding 
them completely. She had found other leaves of burning 
scarlet and had made of them a necklace which quivered 
about her smooth, dark neck like living flames. There 
was a crown of leaves on her head, hiding the short hair 
and giving to the face a new womanliness of rare simplicity 
and charm. This headdress was of different colors ; but 
all the leaves fastened to her dress were of the deepest 
green set so thick that her form was undefined. 

The heavy black eyebrows, the soft dark eyes, the thin 
cheeks, the sensitive red mouth, the rounded chin, were 
all touched by a grace, a sadness, an elusive mystery of 


166 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


the moonlight, that made his heart throb with pain. The 
dark satin of the neck with its little tongues of flame 
where the scarlet edges of the leaves quivered, held his 
eyes as if fascinated. Beneath the green robe, her feet 
could not be clearly discerned for the water danced over 
them ceaselessly now in white foam, now in crystal clear- 
ness like molten silver running over bits of pearl. 

As the stream frothed white upon the ledge and dark- 
ened at its base, she continued singing, always suiting her 
voice to its changing stress with such rare sympathy and 
art that one might very well have imagined her a witch 
learning one of nature’s incantations. 

The words were without measure, suited to the time 
of the stream, but always expressing the girl’s inmost 
emotions, and her tones were so liquid, so hauntingly 
sweet, her voice was so unafraid of the heights to which 
it was cast, so sure of its power to hold a note or relinquish 
it at will, that Claude listened in breathless ecstasy, while 
the tears leaped to his eyes. 

His sense of her loneliness was swallowed up in the 
larger impression of her wonderful voice. As one who 
rightly appreciates genius can, for a time, borrow of its 
power, so he was borne beyond himself out upon a sea of 
emotion which alone he could neither have fathomed nor 
traversed. But when one yields oneself to genius, he 
need not know the way, for, whatever depths may be 
traversed, while upheld by a master power, he breathes 


OF THE OZARKS 


167 


the freedom and the strange delight of untrammeled 
thought and limitless emotion. So it is with a lover of 
music in the presence of a master-singer. He is inexpress- 
ibly thrilled while haunting dreams come to him, vague 
longings of ambition like the undeveloped etchings of 
passion, and a burning desire to be not only great but 
noble — dreams, longings, desires which do not always die 
away with the voice that gives them birth. 

At first, Claude imagined that Norris was singing a 
real song. Then when he discovered there was neither 
stanza nor rhyme, he thought it some prose selection, 
made poetic by abrupt pauses, by prolonged notes, by the 
adaptation of her voice to the weird melody of the water. 
But it was not long before he divined the truth. 

She was giving expression to her secret thoughts. She 
was telling how the Beautiful Woman compelled her to 
dress as a hireling, to keep her hair cut short that she 
might not have one attractive feature — and she was thank- 
ing the forest that lent her the green robes even though 
they had caused her to be known as the Green Witch. And 
here was the cave into which she could escape if the mob 
came to seize her. So she was all alone, she sang, all alone 
with the beautiful moon and the laughing waterfall. And 
being alone, all alone, she would not sing of her loneliness 
as in times past, she would not express her longings for 
a home, for a father’s protection, for the place in life 
that was worthy of her— no, she would sing tonight only 


168 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


of her love, she would tell the dancing waterfall how 
this love had grown and how it had come to mean more 
to her than her very life. Nobody would hear — nobody 
but the trees of the Ozarks, and they would never tell. 
Was she not their little daughter? See! they had given 
her this gay party-dress. She would never dance at the 
ball, never at any ball. But her voice would dance with 
the voice of the waterfall — just those two for partners, 
while she told of her love. 

And because Claude’s yearning desire to be not only 
great but noble was strong upon him, inspired by that 
voice, and sustained by his better nature, he softly left 
the brow of the descent, and found his way back to the 
trail, and back to camp, without once looking behind him, 
without once pausing to catch a word of that strange 
love-song. 

But the vision beside the waterfall had taught him one 
thing — that the memory of the Beautiful Woman could 
never again obscure the image of the little Green Witch. 
For when his mind went out in thoughts of tender desires, 
in fancies of womanly loveliness it took the direction of 
his new found love. 

For now that it seemed too late, he knew that he loved 
Norris. And he knew that if the Little Fiddler proved 
unworthy of her trust, and if it were possible for Norris 
to overcome her love for that disguised stranger and to 
forget her love song to the waterfall, he should present 
her to the world as his wife. 


OF THE OZARKS 


169 


Never before had he waited so impatiently for the dawn 
of any day as of that fateful Friday which was to bring 
him and the Little Fiddler face to face. 


CHAPTER XIX 


THE PISTOL AND THE HANDKERCHIEF 

I F Claude felt that the light of Friday would never 
come stealing over the hills of the Ozarks, certainly 
Rodney Bates, almost as wakeful, though not so rest- 
less, shared this feeling. Long before sunrise the expert 
driller was dressed, and at sunrise he was on his way to the 
mine, singing boyishly. .He sang and whistled, whistled and 
sang as he and Peter Poff worked together. At last there 
was pretty good evidence that oil was to be found — but 
his sudden loud laughter, his gay songs were not inspired 
by the discovery. 

No — the day of the dance had come, and that night 
he would hold in his arms the Beautiful Woman. 

At the evening meal, he was unable to refrain from 
discussing the dance. And Giles Gradley who had taken 
the news of the oil with perfect indifference, turned to 
his wife with the same nonchalance — 

“Are you still in the notion of going to Bud Poff’s?” 
She knew she was putting his forbearance to the supreme 
test, and at that moment she felt a yearning desire to 
draw him to her, to whisper love in his ear; but her 
victory over him had always been incomplete. 

170 


OF THE OZARKS 


171 


“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I want to go, and Mr. Bates 
will take me.” 

Even when his love for her rushed like lava over the 
doomed meadows of his better self, she had detected in 
his passionate eyes a look not all for her, not all of passion 
— a straining back of the vision, as if looking wildly upon 
that which was lost. It was because the flash of hen 
smile had sometimes sunk in the dark depths of his medi- 
tation without finding an answering gleam of comrade- 
ship, that she had, on Bates’s coming to the Ozarks, be- 
gun to play, very cautiously, upon an unused string in 
Gradley’s nature — jealously. Had Gradley sometimes 
suspected that he had won her too easily? Then he 
might witness Bates’s infatuation, and learn that other 
men were as ready as he had been, to give up all for her 
sake. 

“After all,” said Bates, overflowing with bright antici- 
pations, “the hop is not to be at Bud Poff’s barn. No — 
we’ve a perfect dream — I proposed the thing. You know 
Cave Spring?” 

Gradley was watching the speaker with darkened brow, 
and to the degree that his unhappiness was made manifest, 
Mrs. Gradley’s spirits rose. A woman’s magic is all spent, 
when unable to touch a heart with pain. She pretended 
profound interest in the new arrangements. 

“Yes,” Bates went on, “these natives are so used to 
the wonders of nature around them, that it never occurs 
to them to use ’em in their festivities. Now there’s Cave 


172 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


Spring, a wonderful place, with a broad smooth space in 
front of it and on both sides, half-way up the mountain. 
Weve laid a floor as smooth as wax can make it, right 
there by the entrance. The moon’s full, tonight, and 
we’ll dance to the sound of the fiddle — and, by the way, 
we’ve captured a small organ and a man to play it. Oh, 
there’ll be great doings in the Ozarks tonight.” 

“It will be heavenly!” she murmured; then turning to 
her husband — “I hope you won’t feel lonely while we’re 
away.” 

“Do you think you’ll like it, Kate?” he asked, sombrely. 

“Oh, so much — you’ll take good care of me, won’t 
you, Mr. Bates?” 

Rodney Bates could not hide the light of his eyes. 

It was about nine o’clock when they mounted to ride 
away — Mrs. Gradley on her pony, Bates on the powerful 
black horse. She pretended to believe that Bates was 
afraid of the steed, that he would not be able to keep 
his saddle, and she taunted him, while he protested, and 
both laughed like children. Then, as they rode away, 
still laughing, she looked back to wave an airy goodby 
to her husband, and her triumph was great as she ob- 
served his lowering brow and cynical smile. 

When they were gone, Giles paced the path before 
his cabin, staring fixedly in the direction of the vanished 
horses. A brilliant moon had obliterated the dividing 
line of day and night, and the forest trees in the yard 
whispered solemnly of forest secrets. Giles was thinking 


OF THE OZARKS 


173 


of an evening, years ago, which had been lighted by just 
such a moon, — an evening when he and Kate sped in a 
touring-car from his home in a nearby town, to Kansas 
City. How sorry he had felt because she, so young and 
oh, so beautiful! — must win her daily bread as a stenog- 
rapher. How modest, how sweet, how girlish and happy 
she had appeared that night — how grateful for the trip 
to the city, how enthusiastic over the river-lights and the 
twinkling castles that rose from lofty ridges — and, above 
all, how awed before his rising fame. 

Yes, that night he was upon the eve of greatness; he 
had deserved so much from his party that there had 
developed little opposition to his candidacy — a seat in Con- 
gress was assured. But he had taken the moonlight ride 
with her. * * * And now, she was riding away 

just as gaily, with another man. 

What could she find in this mere mechanic, this coarse- 
fibered, heavy-jawed Bates? And how dared he, a fellow 
hired to bore for oil, how dared he endeavor to worm 
himself into the good graces of the woman who had ex- 
tended her hospitality ! 

“Curse him !” muttered Gradley. “He covets the hand 
that ministers to his necessity. Why — he is as great a 
villain as myself. Let us see, let us see; if he is my 
match in wickedness, will he prove my match in daring?” 

He snatched a pistol from his pocket and examined it 
narrowly, then replaced it with a bitter laugh. He flung 
himself into the hammock, muttering incoherently. Pres- 


174 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


ently he again drew the weapon, and pressed the cold 
muzzle to his forehead. If he felt any temptation to 
pull the trigger, it vanished, for he removed the iron, 
and held it to catch the moonlight. ‘‘Very pretty,” he 
smiled, sardonically. “I really believe I’d prefer to kill 
another man. I can always have a shot at myself, if 
that seems the best ending.” 

An aimless hand came in contact with a handkerchief 
that had been left in the netting. He raised it to his 
face, and the well-known perfume stole upon his senses. 
He pressed the dainty fabric to his face, laughing — 

“This wins! But who has the right to kiss it?” He 
flung it to the ground, as he rose. “That is to be seen.” 

He had made up his mind — he would go to the dance. 
If possible, he would look on, without being seen; if 
possible, he would study Bates and Mrs. Gradley in their 
association; and if he found anything hidden, anything 
sinister . . . 

So it came to pass that Giles Gradley and Claude Wal- 
cott and Rodney Bates and Mrs. Gradley and the Little 
Fiddler, all met that night under the moonlight at Cave 
Spring. 


CHAPTER XX 


THE OZARK SONG 

C LAUDE WALCOTT was one of the latest to 
arrive at Cave Spring, that night of the dance. 
Long before reaching the foot of the hill he heard 
shouts of laughter and echoing calls, and when he was 
climbing the steep, the dancing upon the improvised stage 
was plainly audible; by the time he had gained the ledge 
before the mouth of the stone cavern, the sound of the 
Little Fiddler’s violin reached his ears. 

The young men received him in bluff and hearty fash- 
ion, and even the girls who had mistreated Norris be- 
stowed upon him broad, good-natured smiles. As for 
Peter Poff, he at once took charge of him with loud hos- 
pitality, explaining that the stage had not been set up in 
front of the cave — as Bates had suggested — because the 
cold air from the mysterious depths was not a good thing 
for heated bodies. Rodney Bates had wanted the musician 
to stand within the cave, on the natural table, with the 
dancers just outside. 

“But it would of been too everlasting onhealthy,” Peter 
believed. 

Hence the planks had been laid out of reach of the 
unnatural chilly breath at one side, and a little behind 
175 


176 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


the mouth of the hill — Claude thought of the gaping 
stone lips as the hill's mouth through which it exhaled a 
breath as of the tomb. In spite of this cold atmosphere, 
the huge block of stone denominated the “table” sup- 
ported a great many baskets, which were presently to 
furnish the midnight repast; the convenience of the long 
smooth block outweighed considerations of the cold air — 
an atmosphere which was at first grateful, after the heated 
earth, and which became insupportable only by gradual 
degrees. 

Claude did not give the supper preparations much atten- 
tion, because his thoughts were bent upon one sole object 
— an interview with the Little Fiddler. He saw with 
disappointment that though the dancing-floor was exposed 
to the full beams of the moon, the shed at the farther mar- 
gin of it, designed for the musician, was so situated that 
none but the faintest of reflected light could enter. Even 
the organ, hired from the traveling wagon was but vaguely 
outlined in the mellow gloom, and the face of the “medi- 
cine-man” though strongly marked, and adorned with 
whiskers intensely black from his own liniment, showed 
but indistinctly. 

The Little Fiddler took advantage of the organ to 
obscure himself as far as possible from observation. 

Peter Pof¥, following Claude to hold him as prey to 
his loquacity, explained that they had been obliged to 
build the shed in order to concentrate the sounds of the 
violin and throw them forward into the ears of the danc- 


OF THE OZARKS 


177 


ers, otherwise they would have been scattered in all direc- 
tions, “and thinned according.” 

Claude discontentedly observed that the shed not only 
served the purpose of sound-concentration, but of keeping 
the player concealed. 

“Which that is one condition of his doing the work,” 
Peter replied. “The Little Fiddler is my friend and 
that’s why he’s here ; but he don’t want to make no more 
friends than he has, now; some does; me, you might say. 
And I contend that when a man is satisfied with what 
friends he has gathered, why waste his time scraping up 
any more?” 

Claude answered decidedly that he did not expect to 
leave the Ozarks without making the acquaintance of 
the mysterious musician. To himself he said with grim 
determination that the acquaintance should begin that 
night. He strove desperately to get a good look at the 
features hidden by the gloom of the roof and the shadow 
of the big hat, but even had the box-like room been less 
jealously guarded, the glare of the surrounding moon- 
light would have baffled his purpose. 

He waited, therefore, till the musician should come 
forth and as he suspected this would not be until the 
close of the dance, he foresaw a long period of waiting. 

Bud PoflF, solemn as an owl, stood looking on at the 
noisy shuffling of feet, which was all the heartier and freer 
because it was presently to be succeeded by “city waltz- 


178 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


ing.” The big backwoodsman shot a glance at Claude, 
but offered no word of greeting, as he solemnly chewed. 

Rodney Bates and Mrs. Gradley, standing at one side 
among those waiting for the first waltz, nodded gaily to 
the young man, then devoted their attention to each other. 
The hill people were not on easy terms with the lady, 
though regarding her with immense respect, not only on 
account of her beauty, but because of her courage in 
living at such close quarters with Giles Gradley; more- 
over, seeing her for the first time at one of their dances, 
and with a man who might possibly be her husband’s 
rival, they felt a thrill of anticipatory excitement. As 
for the expert driller, his free and easy manner elicited the 
judgment of approval which was the last word in native 
eulogy — 

“Ain’t no airs about him!” 

They looked upon Claude differently. Bates, they felt, 
was one of them, despite his better education; and Mrs. 
Gradley, though unmistakably of a different sphere, was 
accepted as a gracious loan from some higher treasury of 
society — but Claude, though he sought in all possible ways, 
except of intimate intercourse, to appear as one in the 
crowd, was hopelessly different. It was a difference they 
could not explain, but which they nevertheless resented. 
It had long ago been classified as “Boston.” 

“He can’t help being hisself, I reckon,” was the gen- 
eral pronouncement; “it won’t rub off.” 

An old settler who was enjoying his Long Green and 


OF THE OZARKS 


179 


leaving his whiskers to look out for themselves, drew 
near an animated crowd and nudged the biggest girl in 
the party, banteringly — 

“Why don’t you gals catch that there tailor-made 
beau?” 

The girl nudged, — it was Lindy Prebby — chewed her 
gum hard and fast. 

Another maiden spoke up: “Don’t make Lindy die 
of shame, Stodge Blurbett, she tried it on once and got 
turned down to the foot of the spelling bee by Mr. White 
Shirt.” 

Lindy Prebby was stung to renewed ambition. “Well, 
you just watch me now,” she boasted. “I’ll go over there 
this minute and catch him ; you see if I don’t throw some 
salt on ’is tail!” 

The buxom girl, loud-breathing, quivering with good- 
natured eagerness, and flushed with daring, came across 
to Claude and said, not without difficulty — still indus- 
triously chewing her gum — 

“Come on, Mr. Walcott, we’re just getting ready to 
put the Ozark Song on the boards.” 

“This is all new to me,” Claude explained, “and I’d 
rather look on.” 

Lindy, conscious of her friends’ watching eyes, per- 
severed. “Oh, you don’t have to know how. We’ll get 
Bud Pof¥ to sing the verse, and all of us’ll take up the 
chorus and dance a hoe-down as hard as we can. Didn’t 
you never hear the Ozark Song? Us fellows made it 


180 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


up amongst us, the words, I mean ; it was the Little Fid- 
dler that give us the air which it ain’t like no other 
music in the world, I reckon. Come on and shake a 
foot with us. If you don’t do nothing but hop up and 
down and shuffle, you can’t make no mistake on the 
Ozark Song.” 

Claude smiled rather remotely, and shook his head. 
“Thank you, all the same ...” His manner was 
quite detached. In fact, he could stare at the Little Fid- 
dler, inwardly protesting against the great hat that hid 
the face, and the black shadows that almost hid the hat. 
The musician’s slender form, delicate feet, thin arms and 
hands, inspired him with contemptuous pity for the man, 
and alarm for Norris’s inexperience. 

He wondered — “And she can admire a fellow like 
that!” and drew up his broad shoulders, feeling himself 
so much more a man. Would the dance never end? At 
the first cessation of the eternal bow, he would hurry to 
the rude structure, he would introduce himself, he would 
make the fellow talk about Norris . . . 

Peter whispered hoarsely in his ear, “Say, Mister, you’d 
better of danced with Lindy. Do you know you’ve made 
her biling-hot mad? You’d better of went with her, 
let me tell you, she’ll git even with you for turning her 
down !” 

Claude, as in a dream, heard the words but dully; he 
hardly understood, and he did not at all care; nothing 
could distract his attention from the slight black figure 
of the musician. 


OF THE OZARKS 


181 


Scarcely had the dance ended when voices from Lindy’s 
crowd shouted, “The Ozark Song! The Ozark Song!” 
And this cry was taken up by the heated dancers who 
still held the floor. In opposition came a shout from 
Rodney Bates’s group — “No, no! Let’s have a waltz! 
We haven’t had a waltz for half an hour.” 

The rival camps challenged each other with gay voci- 
ferous calls: 

“The Ozark Song!” 

“A waltz! A waltz!” 

“No, the Ozark Song! Come on, Bud, get on your 
perch.” 

“Don’t you sing, Bud, you stay where you are!” 

Bud Poff, in the meanwhile, chewed and said nothing. 

“Fellow citizens!” shouted Peter, holding up his hand, 
and thus obtaining something approaching silence, “Bud 
have gone to considerable trouble hauling the planks for 
that flooring from the sawmill, which they air to be re- 
turned in the morning, and it’s eight mile, and him up be- 
times. And I contend that if he wants to sing he ought 
to be give free rein.” 

There seemed so much sound justice in this opinion 
that all looked to Bud to learn his pleasure. 

“Which it ain’t that I’m a honing to sing,” said Bud 
in a rough hoarse voice, evidently habitual to him, “them 
being that can do it better, but such as being, wanting to 
dance and therefore unavailable. This here, as I sees it, is 
a matter of patriotism; and when it’s the Ozark apple, 
or the Ozark springs, or the Ozark Song, I’ll back it up 


182 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


agin the world. Ever’ thing takes second place to the 
Ozarks and we’ll have the waltz later.” So saying, he 
strode forward, hastily disembarrassing himself, as he went 
along, of his tobacco, like a ship which, about to enter 
upon a perilous voyage, casts overboard its superfluous 
cargo. 

Peter whispered to Claude, admiringly, “Ain’t I told 
you that Bud is there with the words when the time’s 
ripe?” 

Claude watched in astonishment as Bud mounted a 
box just in front of the Little Fiddler, and opened his 
great mouth to sing. He confessed to his neighbor, “I 
should never have supposed your brother a singer.” 

“You can’t never tell a singer from his outsides, ex- 
cept as so be you look for something curious and as I 
may say agin nature, singing not being a natural way of 
getting out what’s in your mind. Don’t say nothing — 
Bud’s going to sing.” And Peter listened with admiring, 
uplifted face. 

The effect of Bud’s singing on the young man was to 
cause him convulsive agony in his strivings not to burst 
out into unseemly merriment. The big uncouth fellow 
was so earnest, so hoarse and unmusical; and he was at 
such pains to make every word distinctly audible — accom- 
panying them with a gesture to help each reach its mark, 
now of the hand, now of the head, now of a winking eye 
or even a tweak of the nose — Claude was at first conscious 
of nothing but being the witness of an amazing perform- 
ance. During this singular solo, the dancers softly moved 


OF THE OZARKS 


183 


about the floor with great swinging steps and waving 
arms and bending bodies, careful not to drown out the 
verse. 

When, the chorus was reached, everybody took it up as 
loudly as possible, and the scene became one of prodigious 
animation. The music was hurried in sympathy with the 
frantic gaiety, and was repeated several times before Bud 
was again given full sway. The Ozark Song had only 
one verse, it appeared, and Bud rendered it several times, 
in each case followed by enthusiastic repetitions of the 
chorus. 

When Claude had grown accustomed to Bud Poff’s 
eccentricities, and to the tumultuous antics of the hoe- 
down, he found himself listening to the air with keen at- 
tention, for it had suddenly occurred to him that it was 
the same the Green Witch had sung to the waterfall. 
Coilld he be mistaken? He sought desperately to banish 
the words from his attention, to follow only the half- 
drowned strains of the violin. If it were the same air, 
surely the Little Fiddler had taught it to Norris! 

He felt an unreasonable pang of jealous anger at the 
suspicion. Of course Norris, dressed as the Green Witch, 
had sung to the waterfall of her love for the Little Fid- 
dler. But that she should sing the very air he had com- 
posed, and now that he should play that air for the 
common public seemed more than he could bear. He lis- 
tened, then, catching every note, hoping without hope 
that the melody was not Norris’s song. 


184 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


Yes, it was the same melody. Claude remembered how 
Norris’s voice had seemed about to stop in the middle of 
the strain, then had slipped downward even as the water 
in little eddies came sparkling over the corner of the ledge 
and seemed for an instant to pause at her feet. She had 
altered the time to the music of the falls, but it had been 
the same air — and he had taught it to her, this little musi- 
cian, so fond of shadow, and so afraid of meeting a 
stranger face to face! 

Where had he found an opportunity to teach Norris 
his fantastic melodies? Could it be possible that she had 
dressed as the Green Witch in order to meet this man? 
But no, he could not believe that Norris would wander 
the hills at midnight in order to meet her lover. 



-* * .A I. w r 



The Ozark Song. 

Words and Music by John Brkckenridgs Ellis 




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Bright smiles are spark - ling,^ Oh, how the birds are sing-ing. 



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Down in the 0 - zarks Wild flow’rs are ev - er spring-ing. 


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By J- ; J J J | ^. j = | | 


CHAPTER XXI 


THE KISS IN THE MOONLIGHT 

W HEN the dance gave place to the waltz, Claude 
was still standing like a statue, his eyes fixed 
in a fierce stare upon the shadowy figure with 
the violin. He hardly noticed Rodney Bates as he led 
Mrs. Gradley out upon the floor, but his brain seemed 
turning round with their whirling forms. When the 
waltz ended, and after Bates had led away his partner 
ostensibly to examine Cave Spring, Claude, as if startled 
from an ugly dream, started forward so abruptly that he 
ran into Lindy Prebby. 

Claude with no thought but that of seizing the musi- 
cian’s arm, now that it was at rest, muttered an incoherent 
apology at which the girl, to hide her resentment, laughed 
rather shrilly. He noticed, as he stepped upon the floor- 
ing that in the back of the small enclosure was a little 
wooden door as at the rear of a stage. 

He stopped abruptly, reflecting that if the musician was 
determined to escape him, he might slip through that door 
and plunge into the thicket that straggled all the way 
up to the brow of the plateau. He decided to go around 
the room and enter it through this wooden shutter. 

189 


190 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


He had gone only a few steps when Peter caught his 
arm. 

“Which away and where to?” Peter inquired. 

“I’m going to talk to that musician,” Claude answered, 
impatiently. 

“Well, now, I wouldn’t,” Peter’s grasp grew rigid. 
“Ain’t I done told you that he wouldn’t come to play for 
us, if we didn’t keep off the people? Being a city man, 
I reckon he looks on playing for these country dances as 
sorts of larks — them kinds of larks that’s got money under 
their wings. We pay him noble, and he gives us what we 
want, and if I didn’t make myself plain to you about this 
before, it must of been that I taken the wrong words 
which ain’t no discredit to you, for I am in a state of — ” 

“Pete, I can’t endure to have my arm held,” said Claude, 
breaking away. “That musician can’t object to my talk- 
ing to him, for I don’t live in this country, and I expect 
to go away, in a few days, forever. So you see, there’s no 
danger of my telling about his larks.” 

In the meantime the musician who had kept his face 
against his instrument, walked to the rear of his retreat, 
to lean against the door, for a moment’s rest. At the 
moment that Claude freed himself, he wheeled about, and 
now began a lively reel, which threw the crowd into laugh- 
ing confusion, evoking noisy stamping of feet, wild brush- 
ing of skirts, and encouraging shouts from the spectators. 
Everywhere was violent motion and supreme good humor. 

Claude, finding his purpose inopportune fell back a few 


OF THE OZARKS 


191 


steps and discovered Giles Gradley looking on in grim 
silence, the moonlight defining his black figure with start- 
ling distinctness. Bud Poff also observed the sudden 
arrival and out of the forest of hair and whiskers his red 
eyes twinkled and shone ; but no words escaped the 
bristling lips. 

Giles remained but a moment, for his sweeping glance 
assured him that those whom he sought were not among 
the dancers. As he turned to depart, there was a grim- 
ness about the lips and a dangerous gleam in the eyes 
that suddenly roused Claude from his reveries. 

Where were Rodney Bates and Mrs. Gradley? At 
any rate, they were not with the crowd, and possibly Giles 
would come upon them quite alone — such isolation was 
most imprudent and might prove dangerous. Claude’s 
impulse was to warn his friend, but having no idea of 
his whereabouts, he decided to follow Giles in order to 
discover it. He left the stage with its noisy mirth, and 
Peter Poff made no effort to detain him — doubtless be- 
cause he had not taken the direction of the Little Fiddler. 

Suddenly he heard the unrestrained laughter of Rod- 
ney Bates — it guided both him and Giles Gradley to a 
spot where a swing had been fastened to a post oak. Here 
the girls were taking turns in being sent upon airy flights, 
and Mrs. Gradley was one of them, youthful, full of 
merry laughter. Bates, who had the special swinging of 
Mrs. Gradley, was so overflowing with high spirits that 
he kept the girls in shrieks of laughter by his robust mirth. 


192 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


Claude had never seen Mrs. Gradley more beautiful. 
She was simply dressed, that she might seem in keeping 
with the girls of the wilderness, but her face set her apart 
from all, it was so soft, so pink, so exquisitely formed; 
and when Bates sent her far above his head, into, a sea of 
moonbeams, the loveliness of her supple body was like some 
enchanting personification of beauty hovering in etherial 
space. Giles watched her, his form seeming slighter than 
ever, his head more massive, more magnificent, his eyes 
as dark as night, his face full of a dark and haunting 
grandeur. 

Bates helped Mrs. Gradley from the swing, and thus 
far, there was no harm. But now they strolled away and 
in leisurely fashion began to descend the hillside. Giles 
walked very slowly after them, Claude followed Giles. 

For a few moments the moonlight was full upon Bates 
and his companion, then they entered a copse at first 
thin, then densely crowded with small pines through 
which the trail descended. As they vanished, Giles dis- 
covered Claude not far behind him. He stopped abruptly. 

“Well, Walcott?” It was an inquiry. 

“I am not dancing,” Claude said, quietly. 

“Oh, you are seeking your friend, no doubt — quite a 
coincidence, as I am seeking my wife. Wait — presently 
they will emerge — ” 

Rodney Bates and Mrs. Gradley reappeared, going 
down the path of silvery light. They were going very 
slowly, talking in low voices. 


OF THE OZARKS 


193 


Gradley said, “One walks slowly when one is old.” 

Claude murmured politely that Mrs. Gradley was by 
no means old, but the other paid no attention to the 
words, for at that moment, Mrs. Gradley stumbled, and 
fell upon her knees. Bates, in painful apprehension, bent 
over her. Giles and Claude stood where they could look 
down upon them as upon a picture. 

“I’m afraid she’s hurt!” Claude exclaimed, as the lady 
did not rise. “She has stumbled over a stone.” 

Gradley responded calmly, “I do not think there was a 
stone.” 

In truth, Claude had his own doubts about the stone. 
Bates lifted her up, and as she stood unsteadily, he sup- 
ported her with his arm about her waist. Her voice 
floated up to the watchers — 

“No, no, Mr. Bates, you must not!” 

“We in the shadow, they in the light,” muttered Grad- 
ley. “Walcott, it is like a play — let us not interrupt.” 

They turned around to re-enter the copse, Bates still 
holding his arm about Mrs. Gradley. As they drew 
nearer, Claude determined to create a diversion. Of 
course Bates would do no harm * * * still, one 

might conduct oneself differently if aware of the steely 
gaze of a watchful husband. 

As the trees grew thin, they saw that Mrs. Gradley did 
slightly limp as if the stumbling had not been altogether 
fictitious. Suddenly Bates bent over her swiftly, and she 
uttered a faint, sharp cry. 


194 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


“Did you see?” Gradley asked Claude, in a thin, deadly 
tone. “You will admit there was no mistake that time?” 

It was then that Claude perceived the pistol in Gradley ’s 
hand. 

The trees had again blotted out the approaching figures, 
and Giles observing where they must reappear, lifted his 
arm; the moonlight touched the barrel of the weapon in 
gleaming lines. 

Claude laid his hand upon the arm that supported the 
leveled pistol — “Mr. Gradley, do you think she is worth 
it?” 

He turned upon Claude with flashing eyes, and for an 
instant there was something terrible in his savage ex- 
pression of power. He hissed, “What do you say?” 

“I ask you if you think she is worth it?” 

“Worth it?” 

“Yes, assassination, murder — can she pay such a price? 
You know her better than I, that’s why I ask you if she 
is worth it.” 

Gradley stared at him a moment, then dropped his arm. 
“Walcott, if I could be sure she’s worth it, I’d kill you 
for that question. But I don’t know — my God, I don’t 
know what she is worth!” He flung the weapon from 
him. 

Mrs. Gradley came up the path alone, and her limp was 
hardly perceptible. Bates had remained in the wood. 

“O Giles!” she exclaimed, discovering him. Her voice 


OF THE OZARKS 


195 


sounded with a sob — “don’t leave me, Giles, don’t leave 
me!” 

“Why, no,” he said, in a restrained voice, “that is good 
advice, and I will not leave you! Come then, let us 
converse.” He turned to Claude — “Tell your friend 
Bates I’ve left him my compliments,” and he pointed to- 
ward the bushes into which he had hurled the pistol. He 
led away his wife; and Claude, now that Bates was out 
of danger, returned to the dance, quivering with excite- 
ment, muttering, 

“And now for the Little Fiddler!” 


CHAPTER XXII 


LOST IN THE CAVE 

A S Claude returned to the scene of the dancing, 
there came a lull in the elephantine jollity, while 
fell the last pattering spray from the highest crest 
of E-string melody. It was the supreme effort before 
refreshments, and as Claude met those leaving the stage, 
he heard rumors on all sides that “the table was being set.” 

The Little Fiddler had dropped wearily upon a stool 
placed behind a beam at the rear of his shed, and the 
upper part of his person was obscured by its tree-like forks. 
As Claude lightly crossed the platform and entered the 
alcove at one side, he was impressed by the other’s de- 
spondent position from which all life seemed to have 
departed. 

“I beg your pardon,” he began abruptly, not without 
a touch of aggressiveness in his tone, “but you look lone- 
some. May I introduce myself? — Claude Walcott.” 

The musician started up in great agitation, but instead 
of looking at the intruder, stared about wildly as for 
some means of escape. 

Claude observed the impulsive movement with grim 
relentlessness. 


196 



IT WAS THEN CLAUDE PERCEIVED THE PISTOL IN 
GRADLEY’S HAND. — Page 194. 







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V 











OF THE OZARKS 


197 


He spoke more decidedly: “Will you honor me with 
your name, sir?” 

Suddenly the violinist darted toward the little door, 
which was not swung upon hinges, but stood propped 
against the small square opening — the entire structure 
had been too hurriedly put up to admit of careful work- 
manship. The slight figure paused at the heavy door as 
if to summon sufficient strength — then the barricade was 
hurled to the floor with a loud crash, and the form leaped 
into the bushes which grew to the very opening. 

“Stop!” called Claude commandingly, and he dashed 
after the fugitive, his face white with anger. He reached 
the opening in a moment and was darting through when 
a bulky* body interposed itself. 

“Don’t try to stop me,” Claude warned the apparition 
which seemed to have started up from the very ground — 
“I mean to talk to that fellow, I mean to find out all 
about him.” 

“No!” said the man in a voice so deep and hoarse that 
it shook his form. His red eyes glared fiercely — the man 
was Bud Poff. 

Opposition swelled Claude’s anger. Was Norris’s lover 
a criminal that every one tried to shield him? He pushed 
the opposing body as violently as the narrow space per- 
mitted, and Bud staggered backward. But as the young 
man lowered his head to emerge, he was checked by a 
swift flash of steel. The moonlight gleamed upon a long 
bowie-knife held in the other’s threatening grip. 


198 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


Bud said nothing, only looked. 

Then Peter Poff came up from behind, and laid his hand 
Upon Claude’s shoulder; and, although the latter shook it 
off violently, he made no further effort to pursue the 
musician, realizing his impotence. Though still furious, 
he had the sense to congratulate himself that this little 
scene had been unobserved by the picnic-crowd. 

At the same time, a sudden idea suggested itself, doing 
much to cool his indignation, — the thought that possibly 
the musician was hiding in the thicket on the plateau where 
he had heard him playing for Norris; as soon as possi- 
ble, he would climb thither and perhaps find him in 
hiding. 

Peter looked at Claude reproachfully a moment, then 
said, solemnly, “Mr. Walcott, there is one right which 
it is every man’s, and by that I mean the right to go and 
come. If you are a visiting-man, yourself, I contend you 
have to stand for it when people come to visit you ; if 
you give, you must take; and the more you enjoy sitting 
down in other people’s houses, the more you have your 
own chairs at home wore by sitters you have sat with. 
But if not, then not.” 

“Pete, I demand the name of that rascal who avoids 
recognition ; and I demand to know where he hides, and 
why he hides.” 

“And if not, then not,” Peter persisted, argumenta- 
tively. “If not of a visiting turn yourself — and the Little 


OF THE OZARKS 


199 


Fiddler ain’t — then what have you done to be inflicted? 
Ain’t a man free? I contend he air.” 

Claude could not explain that his interest in Norris 
justified his resolution to sound the Little Fiddler to the 
bottom; Peter was a true friend to Norris — but it was not 
likely that he knew of her lover. He tried again: 

“Pete, there’s something about the Little Fiddler that’s 
familiar to me — his way of moving, of walking — I don’t 
know what, but I’m sure I’ve known that man; and since 
it couldn’t have been in the Ozarks, it must have been 
in Kansas City. And evidently he knows who I am. 
Now, why should he run away, except to hide some 
guilty secret?” 

“And if not,” repeated Peter, “then not.” He- found 
infinite satisfaction in this new-found phrase, which seemed 
to surprise him as much as it mystified the watchful Bud. 
“If not, then not !” 

It was no use. Claude made a pretense of giving up 
pursuit. He returned to the ledge, and for a while 
watched the busy young people unloading their hampers 
upon the stone table. But as soon as he found himself 
safe from the observation of the Poff brothers, he made 
a detour, slipped behind the platform, and ascended the 
hill by the same underbrush-trail which the Little Fiddler 
had followed. After all, he was not very long behind 
the fugitive, and it did not seem improbable that the 
search might prove successful. 

When the plateau was gained, he went straight to the 


200 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


thickets from which he had heard Norris and the Little 
Fiddler flee on the day of his discovery. Hitherto he 
had never penetrated their depths, but now he entered the 
brambles, feeling his former conviction that somewhere 
behind the green barricade must be some sort of clear- 
ing where the musician was accustomed to meet his sweet- 
heart. 

All at once, he uttered a low cry of amazement. Only 
a few steps had taken him past the thickets into a space 
that could not properly be called a clearing; but, at any 
rate, the vegetation was too thin to hide the yawning 
mouth of a cave — doubtless the same cave honeycombed 
the entire hill, and this was but one of its openings. At 
the entrance, as in a blackened doorway, stood the Little 
Fiddler, panting and fanning violently with the big felt 
hat — evidently the hurried ascent along the difficult trail 
had been a severe tax to strength nearly exhausted. 

For a moment the moonlight was full upon the slender 
figure, but the next, evidently startled by the sound of 
approaching footsteps, there was a wild glance upward, 
and the black form darted into the cave. Claude leaped 
down from an overhanging rock and dashed into the en- 
trance, shouting to the other to stop. 

For some distance the moonbeams penetrated the cavern, 
lighting up a smooth stone floor and dimly revealing the 
narrow sides and low ceiling. It showed the black form 
of the musician running, the violin clutched in one hand, 
the other held extended ; the big hat had been replaced. 


OF THE OZARKS 


201 


“Stop! Stop!” called Claude, fiercely. He redoubled 
his speed. 

The distance between them was sensibly lessened, when 
the pursued was suddenly swallowed up in darkness. The 
moonbeams no longer lighted the way, and Claude with 
both hands held out, was obliged to proceed with caution. 
He continued, however to run over the floor which had 
grown uneven, until, among loosened stones which had 
fallen from disintegrating walls, he stumbled severely. 

He was up in a moment, furious with pain and a sense 
of indignity, and his calls were vibrant with anger but no 
sound answered save those unearthly echoes which rumble 
and beat back in hollow mockery from the recesses of 
subterranean channels. 

Suddenly ahead of him, he saw a faint light and at first 
he fancied it was an exit — possibly one like that beside 
the Silver Waterfall; but as his hastened footsteps drew 
him nearer, he found that the feeble rays came from a 
candle. His heart leaped. At last the musician was 
about to capitulate. 

“I’m coming!” he called. “Wait!” 

The candle remained motionless and he darted on, 
although the increased roughness of the way brought him 
more than once to his knees. 

At last he reached the candle. It had been fastened 
upon the floor in the crevice of a rock — doubtless the 
Little Fiddler had lighted it and left it there on his 
account; for just beyond it yawned a black pit in the 


202 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


floor into which he must have fallen, had not the light 
warned him of its presence. His anger had been chilled 
by this time, even his fierce desire to confront the man 
whom he regarded as his enemy was subdued by the in j 
scrutable mystery of the cave. 

As he caught up the candle, the stone was rolled over 
the margin of the pit. It was so long before he heard 
it splash in some sunken stream, that his blood ran cold. 
At any rate his enemy had saved him from that awful 
fate. Completely unnerved, he faced about, wishing 
nothing better than to be once more in the open air. 

He had not gone far when he came to a thin wall which 
split the darkness like a knife of stone. On either side 
of it were passages which the rays of the candle could not 
reach. One of these passages, he had traversed. But 
which one? Was it the rough stone-strewn floor on the 
right? He ventured that way, and presently came to 
another partition wall offering the choice of two differ- 
ent alleys. 

When pursuing the musician in perfect darkness, there 
had seemed but one way. With the candle in his hand, 
he found so many paths opening out before him, only 
one of which led toward life, that he was completely 
baffled. It would be better to seek the pit again, then 
start afresh, trusting his instincts to guide him. 

But he could not find the pit again. He wandered 
through passage after passage, all of them looking more 
or less alike, though some slanted downward with appall- 


OF THE OZARKS 


203 


ing steepness, and others brought up suddenly against a 
dead wall. 

As his candle grew smaller and smaller, hope died 
away. The last spark was extinguished. Hopelessly lost, 
he flung himself upon the ground to reflect. But reflec- 
tion was impossible. To his disordered fancy he thought 
he could hear the pit calling, he imagined he could feel 
its breath seeking to draw him down to the black waters. 


CHAPTER XXIII 

CLAUDE MEETS THE LITTLE FIDDLER 

I T was some time before Claude raised himself to a 
sitting posture. The sinister influence of the vast 
cavern with its black labyrinths had, on the flickering 
out of his candle, settled upon him with the oppressive 
sense of utter helplessness. Coming so suddenly from a 
world of brilliant moonlight and happy ringing voices 
into a region where life was not, it was as if he had 
lost himself in a sealed tomb. No amount of dauntless 
courage could avail against impenetrable walls and dread- 
ful holes gaping, he knew not where, to plunge him into 
some abyss. 

But after awhile, things seemed different, not because 
they were more hopeful, but because the heart within 
him recoiled with the strength of youth from despair. 
He had some matches in his pocket — twenty-two, as he 
found by careful count; and in his coat were several let- 
ters which fortunately he had preserved to start his camp- 
fire — the envelopes bearing one-cent stamps, and contain- 
ing printed circulars of generous pages. 

He began making torches of these leaves, rolling them 
very tight and dividing them into as many as he thought 
would last longest. Provided with these arms of explora- 
204 


OF THE OZARKS 


205 


tion he rose in a mood of grim resolution, fierce to foil 
the designs of his enemy — for in his present mood he 
regarded his misfortunes as all the work of that Little 
Fiddler. 

Yes, it was certain that the Little Fiddler must know 
all about his friendship for Norris; Norris who loved the 
musician with a love so wild and tender that she even 
sang of it to the waterfall, would surely tell him how 
Claude had saved her from torments and how she had 
saved his life. The Little Fiddler would grow jealous — 
he must have seen while bending over his violin that 
Claude was different from the men of the hills. And 
so, he had run into the cave meaning to lose the man he 
refused to meet face to face. 

True, a lighted signal had been placed at the mouth 
of the deadly pit; that showed that the Little Fiddler 
was not all bad ; but if he had been all bad, Norris could 
never have loved him. Of course he would seek to save 
Claude from perishing in the bowels of the cave; never- 
theless he had left him to lose himself with no probability 
of finding his way to freedom. Did his enemy expect him 
to die of a frightful fall, or of slow starvation? Or did 
he mean to come a few days later, with a searching party, 
to bring him forth, a weak, white-faced, pitiful creature, 
eager to flee from the Ozarks? That must be the ex- 
planation of the heartless desertion — the purpose to drive 
him from Norris. 

Claude’s face was set in a cold smile, when he reached 


206 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


this conclusion, a smile as hard and grim as the stone 
walls about him. The light of his improvised torches 
showed it in mocking flashings of pale reddish flames as 
he held the rolled leaves as far before him as he could 
reach, always watching the ground as if looking for foot- 
prints. 

He had lighted his fourth roll, and its springing 
flame had just evoked his face from the gloom, when 
he stopped short, holding his breath. There came to him, 
from what direction he could not at first determine, a 
sound, whether that of rippling water, or of a breeze 
sighing in the leaves outside, it was impossible to tell. 
Whatever it was, it died away. 

But in a moment it came again, not nearer, but more 
distinctly, from one of the passages upon which he had 
turned his back. He faced about and strained his ears 
to catch the mysterious murmur. It was like falling 
water or wandering breeze, but more like a human voice. 
Yet if it were a human voice, why did it not come in 
shouts, in calls of inquiry, or encouragement? Could it 
be that what he heard was the blending of voices in 
intimate conversation in a remote chamber of the cave? 
His heart stood still. Had Norris come to greet her 
lover ? 

But for that thought, Claude would have shouted for 
help. He imagined that if he made his presence known, 
the voices would cease, and acting upon this conviction, 
he pressed forward as noiselessly as possible, still hold- 



HE COULD DISCERN THE FIGURE OF THE MUSICIAN 
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OF THE OZARKS 


207 


ing his light toward the floor to avoid death-traps. As 
he went on, the noise grew plainer; it defined itself; it 
was the Ozark Song played on the violin, and played as 
it could only have been played by its composer — the Little 
Fiddler. So! And that was why Norris had come to 
the cave — just as she had come on a similar occasion — 
to hear the musician play her favorite air, to tell him, 
perhaps, how she had composed words of her own to 
it, words telling of her loneliness, of her sorrows, of her 
love. What would she say when she learned that the 
Little Fiddler had left Claude to perish in trackless wind- 
ings of the cave ? And if he, like the criminal his actions 
indicated, fled from before him, leaving Norris alone, 
what then would she think of her lover? 

Claude had drawn near enough to discover a faint 
light stealing from the direction of the music. As his 
torch died away, he slipped forward, not lighting another, 
but, on that account, feeling every step of the way with 
cautious foot. At last he could discern the figure of the 
musician bending over the violin. A lantern stood on the 
floor, its light turned to crimson on the instrument and 
gleaming like snow on the small hand and shapely neck. 
The player’s face, he could not see, because he was ad- 
vancing from the rear. He looked about keenly for Nor- 
ris, but if she was listening to the weird strains she must 
be crouching in one of the alley-ways that branched off 
from this main corridor. 

Suddenly the player stopped in the midst of the air — 


208 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


at that place which, during the dance, had reminded 
Claude of the water foaming over the ledge and seeming 
to pause before its downward plunge. Raising the bared 
head which all this time had been half-hidden by shadow, 
the Little Fiddler called wildly — 

“Claude! Claude! Claude!” 

Claude, who was not five yards away, did not need that 
voice to tell him the truth. Over the player’s face the 
light flashed, showing it bathed with tears and blanched 
in terror. 

“Norris!” cried Claude, darting forward. “Norris!” 
I am here!” 

Norris was the Little Fiddler. 

In the sudden realization of this fact came wonder- 
ful hopes, dazzling possibilities, doubts that faded into 
joy, comprehension of the past that made him gasp in 
breathless delight. Norris was the Little Fiddler! 

At the sound of his voice she uttered a cry of joy and 
looked over her shoulder as if not daring to trust her 
ears, and when she saw him, the shining of her eyes told 
how great had been her anguish. 

“Norris!” cried Claude, holding out his arms to em- 
brace her, “my darling, my darling!” 

But she snatched up the lantern and fled, calling in 
an uncertain voice, “Follow the light.” 

He cried out in deep reproach — “Oh, Norris! Are 
you running away from me?” And he stopped short as 
if resolving to let himself be left behind in the darkness. 


OF THE OZARKS 


209 


She slowed her feet, but did not stop. Her voice came 
to him tender but also reproachful. “Claude!” was all 
she said. But her face and neck were suddenly crimsoned, 
and her eyes burned like two stars showing in a rosy sky. 
The grace of her attitude, the charming quaintness of 
her figure which moved him to loving admiration, were 
to her something to be ashamed of because the male attire 
which had hitherto disguised her, now served only to 
betray. 

Claude understood her maidenly shame, and answered 
— “Go on, Norris, I will always follow your light.” 

She paused to smile at him out of the gratitude of her 
heart though if she had known how that charming color 
in her face and that delicate etching of the slender form 
against the blackness stirred an ungenerous impulse to 
pursue and overtake her and crush her in longing 1 arms — 
even with that violin against her heart — she might not 
have hesitated. 

At any rate she did not linger again, and so loath was 
she for him to see her now that he knew her, that she 
ran swiftly over the well-known path and it was all 
he could do to follow her light. 

At last that light began to dim in another radiance, 
for they had drawn near the mouth of the cave, and there 
was the dazzling moonlight bathing Norris’s feet, and 
sending her shadow dancing along the stones. Suddenly 
Norris gave her lantern a quick jerk and it was extin- 


210 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


guished. She dived into an opening at one side, and 
called from obscurity — 

“I’ll be with you as soon as I can.” 

Claude understood that she was about to change her 
dress from the simple but elegant attire of the Little 
Fiddler to the coarse unbecoming garb of the servant; 
he smiled with manly tenderness. He went out to the 
stone ledge in front of the cave and called back, 

“I’ll wait for you, dear Little Fiddler. If need be, 
I’ll wait for you forever.” 

He stepped down into the trail and took a long breath, 
so glad to see trees and rocks again that he overlooked 
Lindy Prebby loitering just below him. 

“Oh!” he exclaimed, much disconcerted, and glancing 
uneasily at the opening of the cave. “I didn’t see you.” 

Lindy laughed shrilly, the truth of his words was so 
evident. She gave him an odd look, one of veiled hos- 
tility. 

“Supper’ll be ready in about half an hour,” she re- 
marked, drily, and turning, hurried down the declivity, 
springing from rock to rock with a lightness and sure- 
footednness she had not shown in the dance. 

Claude watched till she had disappeared, filled with a 
vague uneasiness. Could ishe have heard his call to 
Norris? And if so, could she possibly have suspected the 
identity of the Little Fiddler? But in a few moments, 
Lindy Prebby and all her world slipped from his mind. 
He could think only of Norris and her wonderful secret. 


OF THE OZARKS 


211 


What had become of that image of Norris’s lover which 
so long had haunted the young man? He could have 
laughed aloud. To the Silver Waterfall she had sung 
a song of her love — her love for whom? Must it not 
have been a song about himself? He walked rapidly up 
and down the ledge, wondering at Norris’s delay — would 
she never come? 

As he waited, he gazed away into the vast amphitheatre 
of rounded hills and his breath hung suspended at the 
lovely vision. The different hues of early autumn leaves 
had lost that vividness imparted by sunshine, and the life 
and the warmth of the day was long since gone — all 
was in slumber. If the softened reds and browns and 
the great masses of green stirred, it was as in their sleep. 
If there came to him from the depths, the rippling stream 
newborn from some great spring such as gushes forth in 
prodigal profusion in that region, the tinkle and plash of 
water was as drowsy voices murmuring in a dream. 
Every rounded boss of wooded hillside, swelling from 
one to the other, like scallops in green, painted from 
plateau to valley, now lay dark and still — little islands in 
winding riverbeds of moonbeams. That silver lacing of 
the descents trimmed in most fantastic fashion the solemn 
shadows — only the moonbeams seemed alive, running 
everywhere among mounds of stillness. 

But when Norris came forth from the world of end- 
less night dressed as he had always known her in the 
livery the Beautiful Woman compelled her to wear, 


212 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


Claude turned away from his contemplation of the Ozark 
hills — it was like turning from the fairy thought of one’s 
best beloved to that fairy, herself. In vain the scarlet 
leaves of premature beauty flashed their colors when her 
cheeks glowed with modest blushes; and in vain the 
moonlight showered its light on hillside and tumbling 
streams when Norris smiled. 


CHAPTER XXIV 

THE KISS IN THE SHADOW 

N orris came to him very slowly, her smile suc- 
ceeded by gravity so pronounced that it disturbed 
him. 

“Norris!” he cried, clasping her hand. “We must go 
where I can talk to you — there is so much to be said — 
so much! But the people are coming and going along 
the trail — ” 

“I must hurry home before anybody finds me here,” 
she interrupted quickly. “It must never be known — what 
you have found out. I must go — please don’t try to 
prevent. And I must go alone. But oh, you will never 
know how I felt when you took the wrong passage in 
the cave!” 

“Alone!” he repudiated the word with a laugh. “After 
all? No!” 

“Yes. I am never afraid when I am alone. I know 
the hills and the hidden caves. And if you should leave 
with me, we might be seen — and even if we were not 
seen, you would be missed — Claude, Claude — when I 
found you didn’t hear my calls, and were going toward 
the pit ...” 


213 


214 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


“But I can’t leave you until I tell you — and until you 
tell me—” 

“Please don’t ask me to tell you anything,” she inter- 
posed, starting quickly toward the hill that must be trav- 
ersed before she could reach her father’s home. “Oh, 
I musn’t be seen here — it would ruin everything. 
* * * And I couldn’t tell which way you would go 
— so at last I played, hoping the music might reach you. 
Goodby — goodby.” 

“Well, dear, my going with you won’t make you visi- 
ble. And besides — ” 

She was greatly distressed. “They will know you fol- 
lowed the Little Fiddler and when you don’t come 
back—” 

“But they don’t know that you are the Little Fiddler. 
Suppose I should go away from the Ozarks. Do you 
imagine I can leave without finding out the only thing 
that could give you happiness? No! Not until you tell 
me something — something more than I know already. 
You are the Little Fiddler, but you mustn’t mind my 
knowing that, for I am just — I! You mustn’t mind my 
knowing all about you; you mustn’t shrink from me, we 
may so soon be parted . . . don’t you care — at 

aiir 

She looked at him, and her blushes deepened. “Oh, 
Mr. Walcott!” she exclaimed, putting her hands over 
her face. 

He spoke gently — “Dear Norris, you are thinking 


OF THE OZARKS 


215 


about how you looked, dressed as the Little Fiddler 
. . . and I had already forgotten! Do you think 

I remember how you looked dressed as a man, or that I 
care anything about these garments which certainly are 
not in the latest style, or of the prettiest color, or finest 
texture? My dear Norris, my love protects you and 
surrounds you with robes fit for any princess. If your 
sweet modesty would have hidden any detail of the pic- 
ture you made with that violin against your cheek — be- 
lieve me, my respect for you has hidden it already.” 

She slipped her hand into his, and tried to smile. 

“And now Norris, you shall tell me why you dressed 
as the Little Fiddler — ” 

“Don’t ask me.” 

“ — And why you play for these people at their 
dances — ” 

“I can’t tell you, oh, I can’t, indeed, Mr. Walcott.” 

“ — Because, Norris, it is so different from what I think 
of you, that I’m sure there’s some explanation; and you 
must tell me.” 

“Please don’t ask— Claude! And oh, please, please let 
me go alone.” 

“Very well — you shall have everything your own way, 
so long as you call me ‘Claude.’ And I am only going 
with you to yonder hill.” 

“You have been ‘Claude’ to me since the day you freed 
me from the tree.” 


216 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


“Norris, Norris! And don’t you realize what it means 
for me to be just ‘Claude’ to you?” 

“Yes!” The hill was now no longer distant, and she 
looked into his eyes bravely. “It means that you are my 
friend; a friend believes the best of one — he’s not a 
juryman, listening to evidence. If you could help me, I’d 
call on you for help — and that’s what it means for you 
to be ‘just Claude’ to me.” 

He pressed her hand which did not seek to draw away ; 
its very confiding gentleness was its best protection. He 
exclaimed abruptly, “And you let me imagine that the 
‘Little Fiddler’ was your lover! You heard me say so, 
and didn’t contradict. Oh, what a cruel, heartless little 
Norris — and how I hated that Little Fiddler! Who 
was it, dear, with you in the thicket that day?” 

She smiled at the recollection — “Only little Jim.” 

“Poor Jim — I could have murdered him! Listen to 
me, Norris, I shall never leave this wilderness without 
you.” 

“But I cannot go with you, Claude.” 

“This is no place for you,” he burst forth, desperately, 
seeing the hill only too near at hand, and wondering if 
he should persist in accompanying her. “But there is a 
place for you — I know of one — and you must make up 
your mind to be spirited away.” 

She pressed his hand, and her dark eyes shone with 
happiness. “Thank you, Claude, you will never know 
what all this means to me.” 


OF THE OZARKS 


217 


“You’ll go, then? as soon as possible?” 

She shook her head. “Never,” she answered slowly, 
“never, never.” 

“Not even for somebody who loves j^ou?” 

“Claude, it is impossible.” 

“Doesn’t love make all things possible?” 

“Claude, the poorest creature you can imagine, has 
more than I.” 

“But I am not poor, dear.” 

“ — And — and that’s why I play the violin — for money; 
that’s why I disguise myself to play at the dances — for 
money!” 

“Norris, not even if you love me? For you do love 
me, I know. And loving each other means to go away 
together, don’t you understand? — loving each other means 
living together, for ever and ever.” 

She did not speak. The scent of damp hollows under 
interlaced branches, the sharp tang of dwarf pines, the 
stinging fragrance of bursting walnut-rinds, the uplift- 
ing, permeating air of the Ozarks, the soft wide sky with 
its thousand subtle influences of the night, all made them 
feel and speak as in a strange world of truth and rarest 
purity. 

“You do!” Claude said, laying his hand upon her 
shoulder as they halted at the foot of the last hill. 
“Norris, you do love me!” 

She met his eyes bravely. “You must not think that, 
Claude. You must think of me as your friend. Because, 


218 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


I can never be anything else. And since I can never be 
anything else, you must understand that you are not to 
imagine — that you are to go away, and be happy — and 
not deceive yourself with fancies — and — ” 

“Oh, Norris, Norris!” he exclaimed, smiling tenderly. 
“You don’t dare tell me you don’t love me! Look in 
my eyes. Who were you singing about when you sat 
beside the Silver Waterfall?” 

She cried out in dismay, and searched his face. 

“You are the little Green Witch who has bewitched 
my heart, Norris, as well as the Little Fiddler who has 
led me out of darkness by your music!” 

“Then you saw me — you heard me?” she faltered. 

“I saw. you by chance, dear, but I wouldn’t stay to lis- 
ten. You said you would sing a song about your love, 
and I thought you meant the Little Fiddler. But you 
meant me. Didn’t you mean me? Didn't you, Norris?” 

She looked up, blushing deeply, and a smile shone in 
her eyes. 

“You meant me! You sang about me! You love me, 
Norris!” 

“But if I do — Don’t you remember what you said, 
once? — that I am only a little girl — just a child!” 

“You were a little girl when I carried you in my arms 
across the stream. But you are a woman when you love 
me. And do you think I’ll go away and leave the woman 
who loves me? Just a child, indeed!” He looked into 
her face with laughing tenderness. “I wish I could have 


OF THE OZARKS 


219 


known you when you were just a child — oh, what great 
eyes you must have had, and what a beautiful, soft, trem- 
bling mouth — just as you have now. And your smile 
must have been something to see! Oh, Norris, how did 
it learn to be so sad?” 

Norris exclaimed impulsively, her face glowing — 
“Mother used to say — ” She stopped abruptly and the 
light vanished. 

He asked tenderly, “What did your mother used to 
say?” 

She tried desperately to finish the sentence with com- 
posure: — “Used to say that I was the — ” Her courage 
failed her at last. “Oh, Claude, Claude!” She held out 
her hands blindly, as if groping for support. 

“Norris! What is it?” he held her hands in a firm, 
reassuring clasp. 

She cried again, now with a dry sob — “Claude!” Then 
she looked up, wild and pale, gasping — “Don’t you under- 
stand? * * * ‘The light of her eyes,’ mother said 

. . . mother — Oh, Claude, Claude!” She sobbed 

wildly. 

"Norris!” he was mystified, but deeply touched. 

“My mother — ” She could not finish. 

“Well, dear; your mother was — ?” 

“No,” she panted, clinging to him, “is, Claude, is!” 

“Is— alive?” 

“Yes, is alive, is alive!” 


220 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


Their words came quick, short, hot, now in anger, now 
in despair — 

“ Divorced ?” 

“Nor 

“Deserted?” 

"Claude! Oh, Claude!” 

“Deserted?” 

"Yes!” 

"Then — but — O Norris! And you can live with him,” 

"Claude, he is my father.” 

"And with that woman!” Perhaps the consciousness 
of how the Beautiful Lady had once stolen possession of 
his thoughts, gave to his tone its exceeding bitterness. 

The moon had passed behind the hill, and all the up- 
ward sweep was in heavy shadow. He could no longer 
see the color in her face, or the deep lights in her eyes. 
Her form with his was merged into the general gloom of 
huge bowlders, jagged outcroppings of limestone and 
granite. 

Suddenly up there, where the moonlight lingered, a 
figure appeared, its face startlingly illumined. It was 
Giles Gradley. He paused on the hilltop, looking into 
the sky. Though so far away, every line of his contour 
was sharply defined. 

"Look,” Norris whispered — "all the shadows are be- 
low him — I wonder if he is seeking God. Claude, he is 
my father!” 

"Yes — yet treats you as if you were his slave! Poor 


OF THE OZARKS 


221 


Norris — darling Norris, I tell you, you shall go away 
with me.” 

“I cannot leave him; sometimes she almost loses her 
power over him — I must be on the place — ” 

“Ah, yes — in a barn!" he muttered, groaning at the 
thought. 

“Once, Claude, he came to that barn to hold me in 
his arms, weeping over me — suppose I hadn’t been there 
when he came! Once again he came to kiss me when 
he thought me asleep.” 

Claude stared with hostile eyes at the motionless fig- 
ure clear-cut against the sky. 

“But Norris — your mother!” 

“This is just as she would wish it, Claude. That is 
what has kept me strong for five years.” 

“Norris! — strong? You strong, thin little bird!” Ke 
pressed her to his heart. “Dear fluttering bird — and will 
you stay here till you die, beating out your wings against 
these hideous bars?” 

Norris rested her cheek against his shoulder. “Not till 
I die, I believe. She fights against me with her beauty, 
her winning ways, that smile and voice, yes, — and treach- 
ery! I have none of her weapons, but I am fighting 
for my father — that gives a strong arm. Claude, I’m 
steadily gaining. Every time she wins over me, she is 
obliged to do so by the evil there is in him ; every time I 
win, it’s through his good.” 

“Dear Norris”— he stroked the short hair which had 


222 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


been sacrificed to the jealousy of the Beautiful Woman — 
“it isn’t worth this pitiful sacrifice!” 

“Worth it? But you don’t know him. If you could 
have seen him in our home — mother’s home; it was his 
delight when he discovered what we wanted to do or 
have — and in public meetings, how grand! He would 
throw back his great head, and cast that splendid voice, 
without the slightest effort, to the farthest corners of the 
auditorium — I was only a child, but the thrill comes back 
— if you could have seen the men leaping to their feet, 
shouting, even crying * * * But when he came 
home he was as affectionate and modest, as if only an 
ordinary man — ” 

She caught her breath. A woman was drawing near 
the statuesque figure of her father. When aware of her 
presence, the change in his position was startling. The 
heavy frown of anger was distinctly visible to both. He 
bent forward as if to strike her to the earth — her lips 
moved rapidly — Claude drew Norris closer, as if by the 
gesture he would insure protection. The form of Giles 
straightened. Anger changed to grief. He pointed up- 
ward. 

“See!” whispered Norris, catching her breath, “he re- 
members God.” 

The woman turned away from Giles, as if definitely 
dismissed. But she had not gone far when she stopped 
suddenly. 

In the meantime Giles shielded his face with his hands. 


OF THE OZARKS 


223 


“Claude, Claude,” Norris sobbed, “he is thinking of 
mother!” 

Claude’s lips found hers in their first kiss. Perhaps in 
no lover’s kiss was there ever less of passion. When he 
looked up, he discovered the cause of Mrs. Gradley’s 
halting near the trees — some one had suddenly appeared 
there, and Claude’s first suspicion suggested that it was 
Rodney Bates; but a second glance corrected the im- 
pression. 

The third figure on the hilltop, one which Giles had 
not observed, so absorbed was he with introspection, was 
that of a woman. 

“Claude,” Norris said, “I cannot go away; but I wish 
you could feel that I am right, and that my place is here.’’ 

“Dear little heroine, yes, your place is here.” 

“I couldn’t desert him, could I, Claude?” 

“You would not be Norris if you could ; and my love 
will stay with you.” 

“It is the only way — ” she nestled confidingly to his 
bosom — “the only possible hope for mother and for him. 
Will you ever feel hard with me, now, because I tell 
you I must stay — and must go on alone?” 

“Norris! I will never feel but one way about you.” 

“I could be so happy with you, Claude, oh, so, so happy ! 
But you see my life belongs to others. I love you, but 
to love doesn’t mean to break other people’s hearts.” 

“Do you ever see your mother? Doesn’t she need you, 
Norris?” 


224 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


“She needs me here. Do you think I love you less be- 
cause I send you away?” 

“Norris!” 

“You know, Claude, love is greater than faith and 
hope. And why? Because love is the light that enables 
faith and hope to grow. I didn’t mean to tell you any- 
thing, but you made me — it seems my very thoughts be- 
long to you? — ah, look ! — she is going back to him!” 

Mrs. Gradley turned from the trees, and approached 
Giles. 

At the same moment Claude got a brief look at the 
other woman’s face. He whistled — “It’s Lindy Prebby!” 
Then his voice grew troubled — 

“Norris, that was Lindy Prebby talking to Mrs. Grad- 
ley — when I came out of the cave, she saw me — and 
I’m afraid she heard me call you ‘Little Fiddler.’ ” 

She started from his embrace. “Claude!” she exclaimed 
in terror. 

“I’m afraid so. And I’m afraid she has told Mrs. 
Gradley. And now, possibly she is telling your father.” 

Norris wrung her hands. “If she has my secret — ” 

Claude exclaimed remorsefully — “See what trouble I 
have brought upon you!” 

She answered briefly — “I must go to them at once. 
If she knows the truth, I might as well confess k, and 
be punished now; if she doesn’t know, they can only be 
angry to find me here.” 

With a hurried entreaty to Claude to go back to the 


OF THE OZARKS 


225 


merry-makers, that his presence with her might not make 
matters worse, she hurried up the trail toward the spot 
where her father and Mrs. Gradley were earnestly con- 
versing. Half way up, she met Lindy Prebby coming 
down. 

“Hello, Little Fiddler !” cried Lindy, maliciously, 
“where’s your fiddle?” 

Norris went on her way without replying. 

Lindy called after her — “And where’s your sweet- 
heart?” 


CHAPTER XXV 

THE LITTLE FIDDLER’S VICTORY 

A FTER her whispered conversation with Lindy 
Prebby, Mrs. Gradley moved from the trees, and 
went straight toward Giles, her manner timid, 
but her eyes shining strangely. 

He seemed to have forgotten her; or rather — as she 
fancied — to be trying to banish her from his mind, to 
escape from her influence, to emancipate himself from all 
that had wrecked his former life. 

She felt instinctively that the crisis in their relationship 
had come. The kiss which Rodney Bates had taken 
against her will, and which would have seemed nothing, 
had it not been observed by her husband, had changed 
Giles’s attitude not only toward her but toward himself. 
She did not understand why, because she knew he must 
be convinced that she loved him wholly. Whatever the 
reason, Lindy had given her a new weapon against 
Norris, and she hastened to inflict the blow. 

“Giles — ” 

He started, looked at her heavily, and mutteied, “Shall 
we go home, now?” 

“Giles, did you see me talking to Lindy? She has 
226 


OF THE OZARKS 


227 


just told me something that you must know — dear Giles, 
it will tear your heart ...” 

Giles frowned, “In that case, it relates to Norris, I 
suppose?” 

She came close, silently, letting the moonlight whiten 
her beautiful face and define the warm curves of her 
figure. 

“Curse it!” he ground his teeth. “I never heard that 
there was discord in heaven because the angels were 
women! Well * * * And what has Norris done 

now f Has she tried to poison that mountain girl, too?” 

“Giles, you are very cruel to me. She will never dare 
to look you in the face again — ” 

“Oh! Has she a conscience? Are you at last about 
to tell me something in my daughter’s favor?” 

“I wish I could!” she cried out almost fiercely. Then 
clasping her hands — “Yes, as God is my witness, I’d 
speak kindly of the girl if I could.” 

“Let us hope He is not witnessing, Kate! Go on — 
what has Norris done?” 

She caught his arm and looked steadily into his eyes: 
“Giles, sometimes you speak as if you doubted that she 
put the poison in my food.” Her eyes grew hard, her 
mouth parted. 

He met her look with a piercing, speculative gaze: “If 
she tried to kill you, it was because she loved me. If 
you invented the story to drive her away, it was because 


228 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


you loved me. In either case — what a fortunate man!” 
He laughed ironically. 

She turned very pale. “Why do you look so, and speak 
so, Giles? Remember our early love — am I not as beau- 
tiful as when you used to call me beautiful? I gave up 
all for you, not knowing what love meant; and now that 
I know, I am glad — You called me your ‘destiny.’ Do 
you never think of your Kate — the girl of your first kiss 
— as she was years ago?” 

“Yes. And indeed you are more beautiful now than 
then. But yet — ” 

She cried out passionately, “Have mercy on me!” 

“Yes — ” He dropped his head. 

Her hand was still upon his arm and now with sudden 
grip, she turned him to face the moonlight, as she asked 
in a low, concentrated voice — 

“What were you about to say? ‘But yet,’ you began. 
Finish it, Giles.” 

“I wish you could be that young Kate, that Kate of 
my first knowledge. That is what I was about to say. 
You see the folly of finishing.” 

“Yes! But if I were that poor girl today, that color- 
less creature who didn’t know what it meant to live, 
if I could be she, I’d utter the wish — but it would be only 
that our love might be lived over, every hour of it lived 
over — is that what you meant?” 

“God! No!” he muttered, trying to draw away. 

A dangerous light flashed from her eyes as she still 


OF THE OZARKS 


229 


bent over him, her fingers about his arm like steel bands. 
She whispered — “Then! is it all a regret?” 

He resolutely put her from him. “I did you a cruel 
wrong. We can’t be re-created, Kate, but if there were 
some power to change you back to the girl I first knew — ” 

“She was a fool! That girl has no pity from the 
woman. She cumbered the ground. I am alive — don’t 
waste thought on her — ” 

“Hush, Kate, that girl was innocent! Don’t scorn 
your better self, the sweet, heavenly part of you that we 
buried that night — let it, at least, remain in blessed mem- 
ory. You and I, Kate, live our lives to suit our desires; 
but it is not without the marring of other hearts.” 

“You are thinking of the child Norris. I know what 
you mean! Giles, — you looked on, at the dance — did 
you notice the Little Fiddler?” 

“I wonder that you care to revive the memory, Kate.” 

“Why shouldn’t I ? There was nothing for me to 
be ashamed of.” 

“Ashamed!” He laughed, then added, “Well, no, I 
did not so much as glance toward the musician. What 
a pity! But you and Bates were absent, and I seemed 
to be interested elsewhere.” 

By a great effort she controlled herself. “You know 
very well, Giles, that Mr. Bates had no encouragement 
from me; and that when he insulted me, I left him in 
the grove, never to speak to him again. * * * If you 
had looked at the Little Fiddler closely you would have 


230 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


recognized your own daughter who loves you so de- 
votedly! Dressed as a man , yes, there she was, masquer- 
ading for hire l” 

Giles looked at her for a moment in silence, then 
spoke with quiet irony. “So that explains the mystery 
of the Little Fiddler! How simple! Of course — she 
tried to poison you, now she is resolved to disgrace me. 
These two fables keep each other in countenance; I’m 
glad you’ve learned the second one, for the first always 
seemed sadly lonesome.” Then his voice trembled with 
sudden passion: “Kate, do you imagine another false- 
hood will drive Norris from my home, or from my heart?” 

“But it is all true. Norris is the Little Fiddler. Ask 
her; let her be the only witness. Ask her if she hasn’t 
a nook in the big cave above Cave Spring, where she 
changes her clothes for the dances. Why, Peter Poff 
knows it. Bud knows it. Jim, the boy whose arm you 
set, the boy you let stay on our place because he was in 
trouble — he knows it. Everybody knows it but you! 
Lindy Prebby laughed about it. Claude Walcott not only 
knows it, but goes to the cave with her, and stays in there 
with her. Whenever there’s to be a dance, the Poffs hitch 
up and pretend to drive to Mizarkana to meet the Joplin 
train. It’s all a farce. The Little Fiddler comes from no 
farther place than your own barn! You think Norris 
can’t lie — ask her, and hear her deny it! But her blushes, 
her stammering words will betray her. Watch how she’ll 


OF THE OZARKS 


231 


change color. Why, this Norris of yours is no better 
than — There she comes, now. Ask her if — ” 

Norris was seen, drawing near the summit of the hill, 
her face turned toward them. 

“I’ll call her,” muttered Gradley, his face purple as 
from suffocation. 

“Yes, call her. You think I’ve invented this story. 
Well, ask her if she didn’t show Claude Walcott to the 
mouth of the cave with her torch and if he didn’t call 
her his ‘dear Little Fiddler.’ Ask her — ” 

Gradley turned upon her a look so deadly in its anger 
that the words died upon her crimson lips. “I will know 
what to ask.” 

Norris slowly walked toward them, her hands hanging 
at her side. 

“Come!” he called. 

Her step was steady. There was neither look nor 
quiver of form to indicate consciousness of the other 
woman’s presence. She lifted her face that her father 
might gaze steadfastly into her eyes. Mrs. Gradley 
watched them, her hands clenching and unclenching, her 
eyes darkening from fear to hate. 

It was Norris who broke the painful silence — a silence 
absolute but for the whispering night breezes, the murmur 
of a stream, and the faint sound of laughter floating up 
from the ledge before Cave Spring. 

“Father, here I am.” 

“I wonder,” said Gradley, “if you can imagine why 


232 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


I have called you, and why something has quite driven 
from my mind such trivial matters as surprise at your 
being here when you should be at home?” 

The purity of her eyes and the fearlessness of their 
gaze caused his heart to throb; nevertheless, Mrs. Grad- 
ley’s positive manner had not been without its effect. 

Seeing him wait, as if for reply, Norris said, “I think 
I know.” 

“What!” he burst forth. “You think you know? You 
have heard these foolish rumors circulated about you and 
that fiddler?” 

Norris looked at him beseechingly. 

His voice was harsh, “You do not answer!” 

Norris answered, timidly, “I am the Little Fiddler.” 

Mrs. Gradley laughed out, somewhat shrilly. 

He turned upon her — “At least, madam, she tells the 
truth.” 

“Oh, but how could she deny it? Everybody knows!” 

“Norris, is it a fact that Claude Walcott knows this 
thing?” 

“Yes, he knows it.” 

“Yet I told you never to speak to him again, did I not? 
And so he knows it — everybody but your father knows it! 
* * * My God — this is a judgment sent upon me!” 

Mrs. Gradley ’s voice was hard, almost a sneer: 

“What did you expect of her, Giles?” 

The thrust roused Giles to fury. He turned upon 
Norris as if to strike her down. “You shall tell me why 


OF THE OZARKS 


233 


you have brought this upon me — ” he snatched her by the 
arm, and almost brought her to her knees. “Quick — 
why — why — why? Speak your own shame. Put it into 
words. Let her fatten upon your disgrace. Why, that 
is what keeps her soul alive, seeing you degraded. How 
conveniently you have played into her hands! Now tell 
her. Let her enjoy herself to the full — why have you 
dressed as a man to play for these dances — you in your 
cave, with your torch and your lover?” 

“Father, don’t ask me to tell,” Norris supplicated, 
deathly pale. 

“Not ask you to tell? You shall not only tell at once, 
but you shall confess to her all your crimes. Here — face 
her, look her in the eyes — now, tell it all, tell everything 
or, although I am your father, and God knows vile 
enough — I’ll — I’ll add some new crime to my long list.” 

He was in such a frenzy of ungovernable passion, that, 
as he sought to drag her up to Mrs. Gradley, he threw 
her to the ground. 

“Get up!” He drew her roughly to her feet. “You 
don’t want to tell me — very good! — tell her. She will 
know what you mean. She is able to understand. Glut 
her revenge to the full — here — speak out the truth, at 
her feet !” And again his violent hand pushed her to the 
ground. 

As he released her arm, Norris struggled upright, and 
faced Mrs. Gradley, disheveled, panting, staggering. “I 
must tell you, since it is my father’s command.” 


234 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


“And mine, too,” said the woman who was suddenly 
without beauty. 

“But oh, father,” cried Norris, looking around, “I 
would never speak these words if — ” 

“Don’t look at me, Norris, address her. Quick! For 
if you delay until the merry-makers have left their sup- 
per you shall still tell it all, even if before them.” 

Norris turned to Mrs. Gradley and spoke in an even 
voice: “To explain everything, as my father commands, 
I must go back to the day before the time of the election 
that would have sent him to Congress. Father came 
home that day, and told mother that he didn’t care for 
her any longer, because he had fallen in love with you — 
that he hadn’t known what love meant, before. So mother 
told him if he felt so, he must not stay; and he went away 
with you. He left us — mother and me — the house and 
all his property, he said; but when everything was sold 
to pay the debts there was nothing. Whenever father 
was from home — it was pretty often during the election- 
eering — I would sleep with mother. The night of the 
day he went away, it was very late — I was sound asleep ; 
when I woke up — it was very sudden * * * Mother 

had gone mad.” 

“Why do you tell us these things?” cried out Mrs. 
Gradley. “We want to know about that cave and why 
you dress as a man to disgrace — ” 

“Tell everything, Norris,” interposed Giles, “you are 
doing very well.” 


OF THE OZARKS 


235 


“Mother hadn’t said much, that evening — just cried 
over me — I was thirteen. And suddenly, there, in the 
bed, we together — it was like a storm that comes and 
blows out the light. . . . Mother seemed lost, grop- 

ing in such darkness — she didn’t even know me. She 
didn’t know anything.” 

“Which was merciful,” muttered Giles, his face dark. 

“She was sent to the asylum and they said there was 
no hope for her unless she could see somebody she was 
always trying to remember. She would sit by the hour 
saying over and over, ‘But why can’t I see his face? Why 
can’t I see his face? I would be all right, if I could see 
his face!’ So I knew that if father would only go back, 
and if she could see him, it would be all right. I wrote 
and asked if I might come to live here, and he let me 
come. He didn’t want me, but he let me come. There 
was no other place for me. And so I came and I said 
to myself that I would win back father’s love, and per- 
suade him to visit mother. I thought maybe, you would 
leave father some day, as you had led him to leave mother, 
and then he would listen to me.” 

“Go on, Norris,” muttered Giles, “tell her — she wants 
to hear it all.” 

“But I found out that mother wasn’t taken care of 
as she should be, in that asylum; paupers were crowded 
together in miserable rooms, and they were scolded and 
even struck; and there was a state investigation even then 
going on about what had been done to a poor imbecile — 


236 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


but nobody could find out anything except that the im- 
becile was dead. And when I thought of my own mother, 
so refined and tender, at the mercy of coarse men, I 
couldn’t bear it. Peter and Bud Poll I could trust, so 
I wrote a letter through them, to mother’s old minister — ” 

Mrs. Gradley interposed excitedly — “You wrote to ask 
about that woman, while living with us? Giles, it was 
an insult!” 

“He answered that the condition of the asylum was 
very bad. Then I wrote to ask if he could take mother 
away and have her kept in a decent place, if I paid the 
board, and he answered that he knew of a good woman 
who needed the money and would be glad to take care 
of mother. And wouldn’t I have worked my fingers to 
the bone to earn that money? But the only way I could 
think of was playing the violin. That’s why I could 
disguise myself and determine not to think of myself, 
but of my mother. And when I stood there, tonight, 
dressed, as you say, like a man, I knew that every time 
I moved the bow, I was weaving a protection about my 
dear mother. Don’t you think that was enough to make 
the music sweet?” 

“I won’t hear any more,” Kate interposed violently. 
“Turn away your yellow ugly face. Quit looking at 
me — turn away, I say. And never speak to me of this as 
long as you live.” 

“What!” exclaimed Giles. “Wasn’t it your wish 
that she tell all? Let her go on.” 


OF THE OZARKS 


237 


She wheeled upon him: “You want to humiliate me 
— insult me, before this would-be murderer. She has 
bewitched you, but I have my senses. What! If her 
mother’s mind is gone, isn’t it better for all concerned ? 
She knows nothing. Ah, Giles, I can see you are weary- 
ing of me already. Send away the girl — why rake among 
the ashes of the past for ugly skeletons? Send her away!” 

He stared at her face, so near his own, with doubting 
eyes. Her hot breath was upon his cheek. 

“Giles, do you know you are killing me? Well, you 
are armed — your pistol is always in that pocket — finish 
the work; kill me! And then let the girl go back to 
the mad woman; and go yourself, if you dare. Bring 
her back to reason — how happy she’ll be! She doesn’t 
suffer now — drag her back into real life. Tell her you 
loved Kate five years with all the passion of your being 
— five glorious, full years, half-delirious with joy — then 
tell her that your love for Kate burnt out, and you’ve 
come back, a man that thinks he knows his mind at last. 
How grateful she will be! * * * Giles, should you 

desert me for five years, then come back because you had 
suddenly taken pity on my madness — do you know what 
I would do? I’d kill you!” 

Norris stood motionless, arms at her side, face uplifted, 
waiting. No one could have looked upon that serenity 
of innocence with suspicion. Kate, indeed, had never 
doubted ; but she no longer looked, save in covert, shrink- 
ing glances. 


238 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


“Kate — let her finish!” Giles spoke roughly. “Let her 
finish! If she has done wrong, I’ll punish her; didn’t 
I punish her when she tried to poison you? But if she’s 
blameless about playing the violin, why blame her? You, 
Kate, are the last woman in the world to want her pun- 
ished when she’s innocent!” He looked at her under 
gloomy brows, his mouth closing in rigid lines. 

Kate Gradley forgot the presence of Norris in a burst 
of despair — “You’ve turned against me, against me! 
Giles, I’ve lost you — after all I’ve given you, after all 
I’ve given up for your sake — I’ve lost you!” 

His face was unyielding. “If the truth has lost you 
anything — the truth which you insisted should be spoken 
here — ” 

“The truth! And what is this truth — any truth to us, 
except our love? My God, Giles, there was a time when 
all truth in heaven and earth was a lie to us, because 
we loved each other.” 

“Continue, Norris.” 

“But that is all, father. I couldn’t have gone to play 
at the dances without a disguise, because everybody in 
the neighborhood despises me — except two or three — they 
are even afraid, because they believe I tried to poison 
. . . so they hate me, and do all they can to make 

me unhappy. I haven’t minded much. When the winter 
nights are cold, I lie awake in the barn — the walls seem 
almost as thin as paper when it is very cold ! — and I think 
how mother is well-cared for and warmed, with that 


OF THE OZARKS 


239 


good woman — no longer huddled with all those paupers 
as if there were no one in the world to love her. Then I 
think — ‘ These hands keep her warm,’ and it doesn’t mat- 
ter if they are a little cold, themselves. When I am 
called ‘Servant’ and banished from the light, and from 
you, father, it keeps me brave to know why I serve. I 
am always thinking maybe you will go back some day — 
go back, at last, and let her see you so she will know 
us both. Sometimes when I am playing, standing there 
before all those men and women, the music seems mak- 
ing itself — it isn’t anything I ever heard, and I wonder 
where it came from — heaven, maybe.” 

Giles groaned and covered his face. 

A horror settled grayly upon Kate’s features. She 
saw herself forever deposed. But a sudden flash darted 
athwart this despair — “Well, Norris, you are posing 
finely! But since your father demands that you tell 
everything, don’t stop there. Don’t leave out Claude 
Walcott, let’s have something about him — let’s have 
everything!” 

Gradley dropped his hands from before his quivering 
face, and looked at Norris wildly. “Yes,” he gasped, 
“do you hesitate? Oh, Norris, my child, do you shrink 
from telling all?” 

“No, father, since you ask it. When he freed me from 
the crowd that was driving me over the felled trees, he 
thought me guilty of trying to poison you — ” She looked 
at Mrs. Gradley; she never called her by name. “Then 


240 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


he freed me from a tree to which they had bound me, 
and somehow, I don’t know why, he believed in me. But 
I didn’t tell him a word, not a word. I didn’t deny the 
poison, I didn’t tell him about mother, or anything — yet 
he believed in me! Wasn’t it wonderful! Tonight, he 
was lost in the cave — trying to find the ‘Little Fiddler,’ 
and, oh, he might have perished — it is certain he could 
never alone have found his way out. I was obliged to 
hunt for him, to show him my light, to lead him to 
the opening. I couldn’t prevent his knowing about the 
‘Little Fiddler,’ since he’d found me there alone, but I 
explained that I did it because I wanted the money. 
Father, he wouldn’t think it was just because I wanted 
money, that I’d do that! He couldn't think ill of me — 
I didn’t tell him differently, then, but no matter, he 
knew there was some other reason, because — he loves me!” 

Norris’s face was crimson, her eyes alight, her lips 
trembling as with the memory of a smile. 

Kate Gradley left her former position, and passed be- 
hind Giles, as if meaning to leave them alone, and he 
did not turn to look at her. Instead, he had eyes only 
for his daughter. 

“Well?” he asked, breathlessly. 

“He couldnt believe I’d go about the country like — 
that — just for wages; we kept on talking, but I kept 
my secret, and told him he must go away, and he said, 
then he would take me with him. But you know I 
couldn’t leave you, father, and at last, without meaning 


OF THE OZARKS 


241 


to, I mentioned mother, and as soon as I heard the word 
on my lips I saw her sitting yonder in her room wait- 
ing — waiting for you. And my heart just broke and — 
and — and then he knew all about it. And he asked if 
you are worth the sacrifice of my staying here, and I 
told him, you are worth the giving of my life; and he 
said, ‘Well.’ And he told me that his love for me was 
such that he could go away and leave me here to do my 
duty. So we said goodby forever, and as soon as he can, 
he is to leave the Ozarks.” 

“Norris,” Gradley said, brokenly, “do you love that 
man?” 

Norris looked into his eyes — “Oh, yes!” 

Giles looked over his shoulder — “Kate, what do you 
think of the sort of love that can go away forever be- 
cause it is worthy? Don’t you think that these two stand 
upon higher ground than our feet have ever trod?” 

Then he held out his arms, calling with infinite tender- 
ness, “Norris.” 

Norris sprang forward and nestled against his bosom. 

She had won. Into the eyes of the Beautiful Woman 
glared the ferocity of an intellect which fury has crowded 
beyond the border-line of reason. She uttered a piercing 
shriek as she leaped upon Giles, whose arms were about 
his daughter. 

“I love you,” she panted, “that’s why I kill you 
>> 

Her hand tore at an empty pocket. 


242 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


Gradley gently put Norris from him saying with a 
return of his mocking cynicism, “Too bad it wasn’t there, 
Kate! I rather wish, myself, that you could have made 
an end of me — but I’m afraid you’d have finished both 
of us.” 

She leaped away, looking wildly about her, like a 
hunted animal. 

“The fact is, Kate, I had the pistol down yonder below 
Cave Spring ; I was about to put a bullet into your friend 
Bates when I saw him kiss you, but Walcott persuaded 
me that you weren’t worth it. I threw the pistol on 
the ground, and if Bates didn’t get it, perhaps it’s there 
now.” 

Without a word, she rushed along the hilltop, and 
then continued, stumblingly, down the slope toward the 
plateau. 

Giles followed to the brow of the hill, then stood watch- 
ing the retreating figure, as it swayed along the red trail. 
In the soft dusk, the exquisitely curved outlines of her 
form were easily discernible. When the path twisted, 
he had her in profile — the tiny ear, the sensitive nostril, 
the full, crimson lips, the rounded cheek — she had never 
looked more beautiful. He stood there in the moonlight 
watching with his inscrutable eyes until she had almost 
gained the plateau. 

Then he looked at Norris. Not for the Beautiful Lady 
was the bitter cry wrung from his heart. At that mo- 
ment the burden of his sin which he had crowded from 


OF THE OZARKS 


243 


consciousness for so long a time, fell with its accumulated 
weight upon his heart. His cleared vision looked back 
upon the past as upon five phantom years that might have 
been filled with happiness for his daughter, love and 
peace for his wife, and the fruits of ambition for himself. 
Norris seeing him about to fall, rushed forward with out- 
stretched arms, forgetful of all she had suffered. Before 
she could reach the spot, he was prone upon the ground, 
shaken by terrible sobs. 

Norris knelt beside him, but waited — always waited — 
waited with that patience which partakes of the divine. 
She knew that there is a bridge which every one must 
cross before he can pass from the shadows of evil into the 
light — a bridge arched by repentance through mists of 
tears. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


MYSTERY OF CAVE SPRING 

C LAUDE had obeyed Norris’s wish that he join 
the merry makers on the ledge in front of Cave 
Spring. He did not remain long, however, for 
he had been too deeply moved by the relation of her life- 
story, to feel any disposition toward merriment; he was, 
in fact, too much engrossed by what he had heard, to 
observe the changed attitude toward him, on the part of 
the mountaineers. Lindy Prebby had spread the news 
that the Little Fiddler was Norris Gradley, and she had 
not failed to connect with that unpopular girl, the name 
of this stranger, this interloper, this “Boston.” 

It might have been supposed, when he strolled away, 
that he felt the wave of antipathy, and was thereby ban- 
ished, but, in truth, he sought the loneliness of the strag- 
gling woods that he might decide definitely about leav- 
ing the Ozarks. 

He had been alone about half-an-hour when footsteps 
advised him of the impatient approach of Rodney Bates. 
They looked at each other in silence for a brief moment, 
then Rodney asked abruptly, 

“Do you know which way she went?” 

244 



NORRIS SPRANG FORWARD AND NESTLED AGAINST HIS 
BOSOM. SHE HAD WON. — Page 241. 



. 












































































OF THE OZARKS 


245 


“Do you mean the woman you kissed down there on 
the hillside?” 

“It doesn’t matter where I kissed her, does it?” 

“No — except that her husband saw you.” 

“Very good. Then he’ll be prepared. I’m going, 
Claude.” 

“Where are you going?” 

“God knows — wherever she is!” 

“Wait. My dear friend, have you forgotten your 
plans, your work, your friends — ” 

“All that — Lord! If you could know how unimportant 
they seem.” 

“But stop, just a moment — is friendship so unimpor- 
tant, then?” 

“I guess I’m crazy — when a fellow lets himself loose, 
he doesn’t feel any lines pulling at the bit. I’ve got to 
find her, and right now. I’m going to bring this thing 
to a finish. She seemed very angry with me, but I’ve 
been thinking it over — I don’t believe she minded. I 
can’t think she cares for that brute of a Gradley. Friend- 
ship? It just doesn’t count, when friends have to go 
different ways.” 

Claude fastened steady gray eyes upon the flushed face 
— “We must not go different ways, Rod. You are go- 
ing from this place with me!” 

“Oh, no, don’t believe it! Look here — I’m Rodney 
Bates. You are Claude Walcott. Don’t let’s pretend 
to be each other. You hold to the old ideas of morality, 


246 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


the old ideas of man and woman and marriage — all your 
thoughts and feelings are the old ones. Claude, you’re 
living in a dead age. But I’ve not tied my arms and 
legs with decayed principles, pretending I can’t break 
free. You still believe in the devil which is a satisfaction 
when you are blessed with enemies to consign to him. 
But I believe that when we die we are all going to — 
Molecules. Have you seen the Beautiful Woman, lately?” 

“I don’t understand you, Rod. I know you were my 
friend, not long ago, and I am your friend, now. I 
beg you not to go up that hill — ” 

“Oh, then she is up that hill, eh? And thank you 
kindly!” Rodney smiled at Claude in uncertain fashion, 
but his eyes were fierce and intent, even while his mouth 
relaxed. He did not hesitate a moment, but darted to- 
ward the steep trail and began its difficult ascent. 

Claude, filled with vague forebodings, called after him 
in a voice of entreaty, but, not being heeded, resolved to 
follow; for it seemed to him that if there should be a 
meeting of Bates and Gradley that night, the result must 
be most tragic. 

Bates had not much 1 the start of him, but he seemed 
inspired by a sort of frenzy that gave him prodigious 
strength and activity. He disappeared over the brow of 
the plateau before Claude could reach the summit. 

When the young man stood upon level ground, he 
stopped suddenly, his face pale, his muscles tense with 
surprise and dread. All the plateau was immersed in 


OF THE OZARKS 


247 


the heavy shadow of the distant ascent which rose from 
out the semi-gloom like a hill starting up from the sum- 
mit of a range. On that remote elevation the moonlight, 
lingering in all its glory, revealed one slight black figure. 
Giles Gradley was looking down upon the plateau, even 
as Claude, at the other extremity of it, was looking — 
they were t«he two witnesses, so far apart, of the scene 
now being enacted. 

A darkened figure was running from the foot of the 
ascent toward Claude; another figure less obscured be- 
cause nearer the light that still bathed Cave Spring, was 
moving with his face toward the ever watchful Gradley. 
These two figures were presently to meet in the plateau ; 
they were Mrs. Gradley who had fled from her husband, 
and Rodney Bates who had already escaped his friend. 

Mrs. Gradley was running, urged by the fury of 
despair, ready to commit any deed in the madness of that 
hour that might strike upon the heart of Giles. Her 
one definite thought was to find the pistol and kill him ; 
but when she suddenly discovered and recognized Rodney 
Bates, a new thought struck her. She paused in her swift 
course, and looked back. Having assured herself that 
Giles was watching, she opened her arms and rushed for- 
ward, crying, loudly, 

“Rodney, Rodney! I am coming to you!” 

Bates sped to meet her, his voice quivering with ex- 
cited passion — “Kate!” He, also, knew that Giles Grad- 
ley was watching ; and as he came almost within reach 


248 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


of the on-rushing figure, he shouted, as in mad defiance, 
“Beautiful Woman! You are mine!” 

In another moment they would have been in each 
other’s arms. Both Gradley and Claude Walcott ex- 
pected to witness the fierce embrace. Even when they 
did not see what they had expected, they could not, for 
the moment, understand. 

The reality was too astounding, its explanation too 
terrible, to be instantaneously grasped. There stood Bates 
with arms extended, motionless, petrified. 

Kate Gradley had disappeared. She had vanished as 
swiftly, as completely, as if the earth had opened to en- 
gulf her. 

And that is what had happened. In what past age 
the earth had opened, no one might know; but certainly 
it had received the Beautiful Woman in its dark and 
terrible depths. Suddenly the three men, as if touched 
by a common impulse, moved at the same time. Bates 
fell upon his knees to stare into the opening, to shout, 
to stretch down impotent hands. Gradley came rushing 
down to the plateau, while Claude hurried forward, think- 
ing of the frightful history of Mad Man’s Pit. There 
the three men met, as if they were neither enemies nor 
friends. 

Bates glared at them, his eyes red, horrified — “What 
can be done?” 

“Nothing,” Gradley answered. 


OF THE OZARKS 


249 


“But we must try,” Bates exclaimed, starting to pre- 
cipitate himself into the narrow space. 

It was a curious thing that Claude should seize him 
by one arm, Gradley by the other. 

“It’s death,” Gradley muttered, as if to explain his 
gesture. 

“And madness!” Claude added. 

Bates hesitated. He felt the chill air sweeping through 
his hair as if to draw him down — down into the unex- 
pected world of death and madness. 

“There’s one chance!” Claude exclaimed, the next in- 
stant. “Quick — hurry to Cave Springs! They say this 
pit goes down into it, or at least finds an exit there.” 

Gradley asked, as he shook his head, “Have you for- 
gotten the stone these people rolled against the only pos- 
sible exit?” 

Bates leaped to his feet — “We’ll roll it away!” 

“Quick!” cried Claude, who was already at the brow 
of the hill. 

Gradley and Bates ran after him. 

They came down the hillside with such celerity that 
they seemed falling. 

At sight of their white faces, their burning eyes, a 
cry arose from the ledge in front of the natural stone 
chamber. 

“Men!” shouted Bates— “the stone! Help us roll away 
the stone!” 

Within the cavern, the confusion was great. Supper 


250 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


was almost over, and the table of a single block of stone 
was strewn with all sorts of provisions. Men and women 
were standing about it, eating, laughing, shouting to 
those who occasionally went outside to warm themselves. 
Some were jesting about the Little Fiddler, others were 
building fantastic air-castles from the rumor that oil had 
been found on Gradley ’s land. 

It was difficult for so many to realize, at once, what 
had happened. The sight of Gradley terrified them with 
the thought that having penetrated the mystery of the 
Little Fiddler he was bent upon her punishment. When 
the truth was grasped, the women fled from the cham- 
ber with screams, with hysterical sobs. 

There was a rush toward the enormous stone which 
stood in the crystal water at the widest corner of the 
gap in the solid wall. Gradley and Bates and Claude 
worked together. Peter and Bud added their strength, 
and all others who could find a place to rest their hands, 
assisted. The difficulty was, that only a few could direct 
their strength to any advantage. Many had rolled the 
stone into place; but only four or five could find a posi- 
tion even partially practicable for their purpose. The 
splashing of their feet in the water, the shout of com- 
mand now from Gradley, now from Bates — "Altogether!” 
then the vain struggle — this, in rapid succession, took 
place again and again. 

Suddenly Stodge Blurbett who, not finding room at 
the stone, was merely looking on, called out, “Look there!” 


OF THE OZARKS 


251 


pointing at the crevice in the wall perhaps twenty feet 
from the barricading stone. The workers stopped sud- 
denly to look but saw only the sheet of water issuing 
from the black interior. 

“What was it?” Bates demanded feverishly. “What 
was it, man?” 

“Wait,” said Blurbett, his face ashen. “Watch — 

now!” 

Then in the moonlight, which flooded the place, they 
saw something white slip through the crevice and move 
slowly back and forth in the water, with a weak, hesitat- 
ing, indefinite turn and twist, with a tremulousness as 
if in this white thing, which was a woman’s arm, there 
was no reaching out for safety, no feminine appeal, noth- 
ing but purposeless motion. 

“My God!” groaned Bates, “it is Mrs. Gradley!” 

The arm disappeared, and the men stood as if rooted 
to the spot. 

Bates was rushing toward the stone with the fury of a 
man bereft of his senses, when the cry again came — 
“Watch! * * * Now!” 

Again that white arm with its sickening impression of 
helplessness divorced from reason, floated under the re- 
lentless wall, and wavered here and there in the icy stream. 
Then a voice came to them, a voice laughing foolishly, 
low, broken, without consciousness. Then they heard her 
say in the slender-throated tones of a child, without in- 


252 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


tonation, apparently without meaning — “Giles . 

Giles . . . Giles—” 

The arm floated back into darkness. It did not re- 
appear, and the voice was heard no more. 

When, by means of a rope, and Gradley’s powerful 
horse, and the assistance of all who could find a footing 
about the stone, it was removed, several ventured through 
the crevices to look for the body — among them the three 
who had last seen the Beautiful Woman. Crawling on 
hands and knees in the water — for the space beyond the 
wall was only a few feet from floor to roof — they 
crept here and there, holding a torch in one hand, drag- 
ging themselves along by the other, till cramped and 
stiffened with the cold. 

They found, at the farther margin of the watery ex- 
panse, a narrow space through which a human body might 
have slipped after falling through the pit; but it would 
have been impossible to ascend by its slippery and almost 
perpendicular walls. They found, also, at another cor- 
ner of this low-compressed space — in which it seemed 
impossible to take a deep breath — a place where the water 
whirled about in an eddy, of unknown depth. Doubtless 
down there, at the bottom of that ceaseless pool whose 
water had never known the light of day, the body of the 
Beautiful Woman was slowly turning round and round. 


CHAPTER XXVII 


GIVEN IN TRUST 

M IDNIGHT found Claude and Rodney Bates sit- 
ting before their campfire. The sting of autumnal 
frost was in the air and occasionally the younger 
man rose and threw brushwood upon the flames, but 
the other never moved. With elbows upon his knees, 
and chin buried in his hands, the expert driller stared into 
the night. The glare of the fire whitened one side of 
his body, one side of his face, and touched one arm and leg 
as with silver braid; the rest of him was in shadow. 
Sometimes his form gave a slight shudder, sometimes a spas- 
modic start, but he uttered no word. 

Claude had brought a book from the tent, his book of 
poems which long, long ago — it seemed to him — he had 
read aloud to the accompaniment of bird-songs. He tried 
to read it, now, but he seemed staring at the words through 
a great horror. There were lines about a woman’s love- 
liness, and the description of her eyes and lips, her little 
feet, her voluptuous form made him feel that he was 
breathing the miasmic perfume of some splendid but poi- 
sonous tropical flower. The poet seemed obsessed with the 
magic of feminine charms, and every glowing adjective 

brought back the Beautiful Woman. 

253 


254 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


It was in order to forget the Beautiful Woman that he 
had turned to the book. He threw it down, and a sudden 
white streamer curling from the rosy heart of glowing 
embers reminded him of that wavering arm, so dreadfully, 
yet exquisitely, lovely — floating an instant out of dark- 
ness and madness. 

He turned desperately toward his friend, and called 
his name. 

The other sat as motionless as the leg that supported 
him. 

‘‘Bates!” repeated Claude, loudly. “Rodney!” 

Then, without movement, the other said dully, “Leave 
me alone.” 

“Rodney — ” Claude stood up and spoke with swift reso- 
lution. “You must go away from here, tomorrow. You 
must go back to town — back to civilization — anywhere! 
If you stay here — ” 

Bates was not listening. 

Claude strode to him, and shook his shoulder. 

“Claude,” muttered the other, not looking up, “what 
do you want? Can’t you leave me alone?” 

“I say, you must leave the Ozarks in the morning. 
I’ll have Peter drive over for you. You’ll go to Kansas 
City and wait for me. I’ll come as soon as I have settled 
everything here.” 

“Go?” echoed Bates, uncomprehendingly. “I? Wait 
for you?” 

“Yes — you mustn’t stay down here a day longer.” 


OF THE OZARKS 


255 


Suddenly Bates gave a convulsive shiver. Reaching up 
he grasped Claude’s arm with both hands, and stared at 
him with red eyes. “I can’t go away,” he said in a half- 
whisper. “My God! I can’t go away from — from — 

nr 

Claude gazed down upon the agonized face dumb with 
nameless foreboding. 

Bates, still clinging to his arm, repeated, “You under- 
stand? I can’t go away, it — it holds me here.” 

The next moment he started up wildly, crying in a 
suffocating voice, “Listen — it’s in the wind — it’s coming!” 

The sound of feet approaching over the rustling leaves 
that carpeted the stones, was heard by both. Bates seemed 
prompted to flee away in the darkness, but Claude, fearful 
for his reason, clutched his arm. 

Out of the gloom of the forest into the light of the 
campfire emerged the slight form and massive head of 
Giles Gradley. For a moment no one spoke. Then the 
newcomer, in whose flexible voice there was something 
searchingly appealing, said, “May I sit by your fire?” 

Bates sank down upon the log as he had been before, 
and became a brooding statue. Claude made a place for 
Gradley, marvelling at the change in him. 

Since coming to the Ozarks, Claude had witnessed at 
least two miracles — for he had seen both Gradley and 
Bates become different men. It was as hard to bring back 
his first impression of the saloon-keeper, as it was to revive 
his old memory of Bates’s boisterous cheerfulness. Cer- 


256 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


tainly Bates had steadily deteriorated in moral fibre, and 
Gradley had as surely regained some of the finer qualities 
which his life with Kate had obscured. Looking at them 
now, noting Bates’s sullen, downcast face, his shifting 
red eyes, his inert helplessness, then turning to confront 
Gradley’s steadfast gaze and erect form, Claude was con- 
vinced that the ascendency of Kate’s influence in his 
friend’s life, and her lessened hold on him who had been 
his enemy, accounted for all. 

Gradley’s eye was caught by the open page of the book 
lying on the ground, and after a period 1 of perfect silence, 
he read aloud with something of his old cynical smile — 

“As beautiful as an angel’s heaven, 

As lovely as a thought of thee — ” 

He turned to Claude: “I should say, ‘as beautiful as 
hell.’ You’ll agree with me, for I’ve known what it is 
to love a woman solely for her beauty, and you know 
what it is to love a woman who is plain.” 

“I never thought Norris plain,” said Claude, simply. 
“Have you ever seen her face lighted up from within? A 
sort of radiance from her innocent heart makes everything 
so wonderful — eyes and lips and all.” 

There was another long silence. It struck Claude as a 
most singular thing that these three men, of all the 
world, should be sitting so quietly about one fire, as if 
they had always been comrades. Presently Gradley spoke 
above the continuous murmur of the wind in the leaves — 


OF THE OZARKS 


257 


“And she loves you, Claude.” 

“Yes,” Claude answered, steadily, “she loves me.” 

Gradley resumed, evidently speaking with great effort: 
“Norris has told me everything. That girl has the ideas 
and purposes of a mere child. She asks nothing but to 
sacrifice her life on my account — she insists on going with 
me — living with me — trying to lead me back into old 
paths. But you, who are experienced in the world, must 
know very well that when a man throws away his better 
self he never finds it again. The part of me that was 
worth while is lost forever. Imagine a man like me going 
back into the world and trying to climb up where I was 
before my fall. My life on the Ozark Plateau with the 
woman who was not my wife — ” 

Rodney Bates leaped to his feet, stared a moment in a 
dazed way at Gradley, as if wondering how he had come 
there, then plunged blindly into the woods. 

Gradley waited until his footsteps were drowned by 
the mellow ripple of Possum Creek at the foot of the hill, 
then continued as if there had been no interruption: 

“And as for my wife — she is better as she is, though 
Norris can’t understand this. Suppose, as Norris believes, 
I could bring her back to reason by going there — showing 
her my face — speaking her name. Could reason give her 
anything but misery? She would spurn me, and rightly; 
I couldn’t protest against her righteous anger, I am too 
unworthy. No, no, no, the old life is not to be worn 
again; why, Claude, it’s worn out, I tell you! Obscurity 


258 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


for me, that’s all — forgetfulness for my very own sake 
and most of all for Norris. I know you love her, Claude, 
as she loves you.” 

“But she is sending me away, Mr. Gradley;” Claude 
did not think it worth while to answer for his love. “What 
must I do? She made it so plain that I was a hindrance 
to her that I was obliged to consent to leave.” 

Gradley stood up with his old energy. “This is what 
you are to do: When I vanish from the earth, as I shall 
do this very night, she will be left behind. You see? 
Go to her in the morning. I have come to you from a 
long blessed talk with my darling. I’ve told her what 
I’ve told you, that I can’t take up my old life, I won’t 
ruin her young life. And I’ve told her that I trust you 
and am leaving her in your care.” 

“I accept the trust.” 

“That is what I am here to find out. It must be without 
hesitation, and without a sense of wounded pride. You 
must remember that her father is a villain who broke 
her mother’s heart and destroyed her reason. You must 
remember that I shall always be a disgrace to my family, 
a blot on my daughter’s name. It is no light thing to 
marry a girl of whose parentage you must always be 
ashamed, and I tell you frankly, that in spite of my 
degradation, there was never a time when I would have 
married a woman whom I could not have presented to 
society! Perhaps you are stronger than I.” 

“I have accepted the trust.” 


OF THE OZARKS 


259 


“Not yet. I want you to understand to the full what 
you are about to do. Let everything be bared between us. 
Norris tells me you found out that she was what the 
natives called the ‘Green Witch/ Of course, I knew 
nothing of the matter except the rumors, which I treated 
with contempt. I no more believed there was anybody 
wandering about the hills at night in green leaves than 
I believed in witches. Do you understand why Norris 
did that?” 

“I think I do.” 

“Still, let me put it in words. It was because Kate let 
her see no beauty in her life, made her dress so she would 
look as ugly as possible — ” 

“Oh, but that was never possible!” 

— “Gave her nothing but the meanest clothes, and cut 
off her beautiful hair and kept it short for the same 
reason. And poor Norris, loving what is beautiful and 
clean and pure and sweet, and not finding it at home, 
sometimes dressed up in that fantastic fashion to hide her 
rags and squalor — one might have fancied her a wild 
creature gone quite mad, if one had not known that her 
father was a monster and her home a prison! As the 
Green Witch, she stole from midnight hours a little of 
the beauty of life, and as the Little Fiddler, she toiled 
for her mother’s sake. I have allowed Norris to live 
under hideous suspicions which I myself shared so that 
she was compelled to work like a slave, and sleep in my 
barn. Also, you must remember that I was the saloon- 


260 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


keeper with heart of stone who did his best to send little 
Jim, and others like him, to the devil.” 

“Mr. Gradley, I have thought over all this many times. 
I have weighed the attitude of my acquaintances and my 
friends, and the probability of any damage to my career 
from the connection. These are heavy burdens and I 
shall not pretend to underestimate them. But there is 
something that has more weight with me than all else. 
You must know what I mean. Did you ever see a tear in 
Norris’s eye?” 

Gradley stretched out his arm impulsively, saying in a 
broken voice. “She has seen tears in mine this day.” 

“Where will you go?” 

“Ah, no one is to know that. And no one need know. 
To your guardianship I trust the only valuable thing left 
in my life — Norris, in all the fresh dewy sweetness of 
her soul. God knows how hard it is to acknowledge the 
truth, but I tell you heart to heart, that you are more 
fit to be her guardian than is her own father. Goodby. 
In the morning you will go to the cabin and tell Norris 
that you have come for her. And now this ghost van- 
ishes — ” 

And without finishing the sentence, Gradley walked 
rapidly away into the darkness. He had been gone more 
than an hour when Rodney Bates slowly dragged his feet 
up the hill, and sank in his former apathetic posture before 
the campfire. When Claude went to bed, he was unable 
to rouse him from his stupor, and it was not until the 


OF THE OZARKS 


261 


fire had died down and the cool breath of approaching 
day chilled him, that the bent figure stumbled to the 
tent to throw itself upon the cot. 

The sun rose without a cloud, and Claude, finding 
Bates heavily sleeping, slipped away without waking him. 

“That’s for good luck!” Claude said to himself, look- 
ing at the unclouded sky. He hastened through the 
forest. Never so soon had he reached the foot of the 
hill that sloped upward to the abandoned mine. 

Here he forcibly restrained himself. “She mustn’t be 
bothered until she’s had breakfast,” he reflected; he had 
forgotten his own. His heart stood at the cabin door 
while his feet were still at the base of the declivity. Had 
he come too soon? Would she think him too indiscreet, 
in too big a hurry to assert his guardianship? 

Finally he climbed the rough hillside and traversed the 
field of pebbles and jagged boulders. In the shadows 
cast by the pyramids of debris from the mine, the dew 
was not yet dried from the few coarse tufts of Bermuda 
grass. 

He entered the back pasture, and as he skirted the string 
of thatched sheds, a gathering flock of turkeys came pip- 
ing after him hungrily. How strangely deserted the barn 
seemed! Nothing was alive about the place but the 
turkeys. 

He went on to the yard. Here again, he was oppressed 
by silence and motionless tranquility which seemed oddly 
unnatural. There swung the hammock between the trees 


262 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


where he had first seen the Beautiful Woman — at the 
remembrance, his footsteps quickened. No smoke issued 
from the kitchen chimney. Every door and window was 
closed. 

Claude knocked, and the hollow reverberation seemed 
to mock him. Again and again he awoke the echoes but 
the door remained motionless. Then he turned the knob 
and found the door unfastened. He entered with a rap- 
idly beating heart. 

He could see nothing in the room but a white folded 
note lying on the table. In a mysterious way it seemed 
leaping toward his eyes as if endowed with the power 
of motion, though at the same time it was unstirred by 
the breeze that had followed him into the room. 

He snatched it up, ran with it to the door, and held 
it to the light, for suddenly he had found his mouth dry, 
his bosom heaving, his lips gasping, as if there were not 
sufficient air in the room to support one’s breath. 

“Dear Claude: — 

“I know you will come, but you will find me gone. 
You remember how I said once that your faith in me 
was more than anything else in the world except one 
thing; I meant my father. He comes first, dear. I love 
you with all my heart, but he is first. That ought to 
make you think well of him, that I love him so devotedly. 
He told me he was going to lose himself from everybody, 
and that you would come for me. He meant it for the 
best, I know. But that was not best, indeed, it was not 


OF THE OZARKS 


263 


best. If there was ever a time when he needed me — 
and he has always needed me — the time is now. 

“I am going to find him. I know a place where I 
think he must have gone. I know his life so well, that 
I think I can guess, the city he would most likely try to 
hide in, there to take up his new life. I am going to that 
city. I do not want you to follow me, because if you 
found me, it would hinder. I cannot let anything — 
not even your love — hinder me. There is just one object 
in my life, just one purpose, just one will: it is to find 
father, and bring him to mother. Anything that could 
just give me happiness, would not stand in my way one 
second. I try to make what I feel strong to you, so you 
will know that it is not to be changed. If it were not for 
this one thing, there is nothing you could ask me to do, 
that I wouldn’t do. If you were at the end of the world, 
and should ask me to come to you and if I had no other 
way, I would start to you walking; and if I lived, I would 
reach you, and I would say, ‘Here I am; I belong to you.’ 

“But this one thing is as fixed as the sky. It stands 
between us. I feel as if God has laid this burden upon 
my heart and is saying to me, ‘Do not lay it down just 
yet, my daughter; carry it a little while longer.’ And 
Claude, all of life is just a little while. 

“You will say, How can I go alone? How can I 
support myself? How can I find my way? It will come 
right. You trusted me in the past. Trust me still. I 
do not ask you to believe in me as one who can make no 


264 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


mistakes, or do no wrong; but trust me as one who tries 
to do her best. 

“When I think that your eyes will be looking at these 
lines, my hand trembles — see? — and I cover the page 
with kisses. I wonder if you will find them? Good-by 
‘Brave Heart,’ — that is what you called me! Good-by, 
Only-One-I-Ever-Loved, you will be Only-One-I-Ever- 
Loved, to the end of time. But Claude — my sweetheart, — 
I am 


Father s Norris.” 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


THE SEARCH 

C LAUDE at first read the letter left him by Norris, 
with desperate haste, then again, with studious 
care. He was profoundly touched by her spirit 
of devotion and self-sacrifice, but not for a moment did 
it occur to him to relinquish his purpose of taking her 
with him from the Ozarks. His second reading- of the 
letter was in order to discover therein some hint of her 
probable destination. 

In this, however, he was disappointed ; the letter did 
not even suggest that Norris herself knew whither she 
would direct her feet. One thing was clear — she would 
do her utmost to find her father. From the midnight 
interview with Giles Gradley, Claude was sure he would 
elude his daughter if possible. And if Gradley succeeded 
in this, if he hid himself so successfully that no clew to 
his whereabouts should be left, what would become of 
Norris, hopelessly searching, and never finding the object 
of her search? 

Claude, feeling the need of immediate action, thrust 
the letter into his bosom and set forth to interview the 
only ones in the neighborhood who had shown a kindly 
feeling toward Norris. He first sought the cottage in 
265 


266 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


which Jim had lived before the death of his drunkard 
father, and in which he still slept when not visiting 
around among his relations. 

The cabin, as might be supposed, was in the last con- 
dition of decay. One wall had fallen in, and the roof at 
that end sagged threateningly as if about to come down 
upon the empty room. At the back, however, where Jim 
slept when at home, the roof, though leaky, was tolerably 
secure. No trace of the boy was to be found, which was 
the more surprising as Claude was assured by the family 
living within sight of the place, that Jim had cer- 
tainly slept at home last night, and was never known to 
come forth from his hole until a late hour; yet nobody 
had seen him that morning. 

There remained to be questioned the Poff brothers, 
and Claude struck out across the hills animated by the 
hope that Pete, at least, would know something of his 
favorite. The path led directly through Ozarka, and 
when he came in sight of the hamlet he was surprised 
at the crowd that thronged the one short street. Ap- 
parently every man of the settlement had come to the 
blacksmith-shop to talk over the tragedy of Cave Spring. 
Giles Gradley’s “Store” was closed and the solid wooden 
shutters were sinister reminders of the strange master. 

At sight of Claude, several came forward to greet him 
heartily and to express regret over the course of events 
that had cast a shadow on all hearts. Claude’s quick 
eye signalled out Pete Poff, and he went to him at once, 


OF THE OZARKS 


267 


at the same time observing Bud Poff in his accustomed 
cloak of silence, leaning against the doorpost of the black- 
smith-shop. Whatever had become of Norris, the Poff 
brothers betrayed no look of secret knowledge. 

Claude was obliged to lead Pete far up the mountain 
trail before he could feel safe from being overheard by 
the restless crowd, and Pete nothing loath for a conver- 
sational opening, followed contentedly, chewing tobacco 
and whittling with nervous energy. At last a secure nook 
was found and Pete at once seated himself on a stump 
as if expecting to stay there a long time. 

In a few words Claude told how Giles Gradley had 
left Norris in his care, but how, on going to find her that 
morning, Norris was gone. “Now,” said Claude in con- 
clusion, “I know you are a true friend of Norris’s, and 
I believe you are my friend, too. You must feel that it 
is to her advantage for me to take her from these forests 
and hills, and protect her. So if you can give me an 
idea of her hiding-place — ” 

Pete shook his head with evident regret. “Nux,” he 
said, “I haven’t the slightest notion what has become of 
her, but you are sure right in saying that wherever she 
air, she is on the way to her daddy if so be as she can 
find the way. You may of thought and you may yet 
be thinking, that me’n Bud knows of her being and seem- 
ing, that is to say her location, but in that you have 
wandered afield. You’re mighty right in thinking I’m 
a friend to Norris, and so I am to you. As long as she 


268 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


was hiding as the ‘Little Fiddler,’ it was my duty to keep 
you two apart; but now as there ain’t no more ‘Little 
Fiddler’ I’d do what I could to bring you together.” 

“But what do you think has become of her? You 
must know her habits better than I. Which way would 
she be most likely to go?” 

“It all depending, as aforetime said, on which way 
her daddy put out, she also according,” responded Pete, 
with earnest conviction. 

“You see the necessity of my finding her, don’t you, 
Pete?” 

“Mr. Walcott, I do.” 

“But where can she be now — this moment — while look- 
ing for her father?” 

“That is to say, Mr. Walcott, and laying aside all 
matters that are not strictly to the point to be elucidated, 
if you can show me her daddy’s trail I will show you 
Norris’s footsteps.” 

“Knowing Norris as you do — ” 

“Quite correct, and from years back when she was 
but a child.” 

“Knowing her as you do, what would you advise, as 
the step for me to take?” 

“Well, sir, I would despise to send you of! on a wild- 
goose chase; but it is for you to say whether you’d rather 
take up a wild-goose chase as no chase at all, a goose not 
being the last bird in creation, after all is said and done. 
As I made plain, to find Norris, you’ll have to first find 


OF THE OZARKS 


269 


her daddy. Now this I know and so I puts it: Giles 
Gradley has one indimit friend, the only indimit friend, 
to my knowledge, which he has in the world, a man that 
was so faithful to him from first to last that he didn’t 
even balk at Mrs. Gradley. The name of this friend 
which I have had it from Norris herself is Williams, and 
his home, it is St. Louis. Air you following me, Mr. 
Walcott, or have you got lost in your own mazes?” 

“Well?” returned Claude, impatiently; “Mr. Gradley 
has a friend in St. Louis named Williams. Go on.” 

“I admire, sir, the way you can, as it were, take a 
bushel of my apples and reduce ’em to a few drops of 
cider. You certainly squeezed all the juice out of my 
remarks! Well, this here Williams come to the Gradley- 
place one time last year, and it was the subject of the 
negotiation of the buying of a house which Mr. Gradley 
has in Hannibal, Williams wanting the same but not will- 
ing to pay the price, therefore going back home and no 
title-deeds signed and delivered. You see which way I’m 
pointing my footsteps?” 

“Well?” 

“That’s all.” 

“But what has this to do with Norris?” 

“It ain’t but natural to suppose that Giles Gradley 
will hunt up his indimit friend at St. Louis, them be- 
ing so thick, and if in need of money as now, more than 
likely as he’s going to roam the world, why not sell that 
Hannibal house to Williams? So as I puts it to my- 


270 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


self, Gradley goes to St. Louis to see Williams. Well, 
and if so be, then so be that Norris follows her daddy 
to St. Louis.” 

“Do you know the address of that Williams? What 
part of St. Louis does he live in?” 

“That I don’t know, and neither does Norris, as 1 
have heard her say. But there’s St. Louis, big enough 
to speak for itself, and in it is Williams; and in my opinion 
there you’ll find Giles Gradley, with his daughter a- 
coming. ” 

Claude mused over this slender thread which might lead 
to something tangible. “How does one get to St. Louis 
from here?” 

“One goes to Mizarkana as being the nearest station 
and there one gets a ticket for Monette ; and from Monette 
the coast is clear any way you want to travel.” 

“I remember you told me once that the ‘Little Fiddler’ 
lived in Springfield ; and later, it was always Joplin. Was 
there any reason to suppose that Norris was acquainted 
in the least degree with either city?” 

“Nux. It was needed to place the ‘Little Fiddler’ at 
a base removed from Ozarka, and Springfield and Joplin 
both seemed so likely that I wavered between first one 
and then the other. True it is that when Norris was a 
kid, they made her walk all the way to Springfield for to 
drive her flock of turkeys, and me and my wife went 
along at the same time, and some days we spent on the 
way, with campfires at night, and plenty of good fat bacon 


OF THE OZARKS 


271 


a-dripping and a-frizzling over the coals. That was when 
I first got to feeling for Norris as if she was my own 
gal, so sweet and pitiful she was, and so timid and thank- 
ful for a kind word. Which goes to show that Norris 
ain’t no novice in tramping the hills; but as for being 
acquainted in Springfield, nux.” 

“Then this is what I will do — go to Mizarkana, and 
try to find out whether or not Mr. Gradley or Norris 
bought a ticket there this morning.” 

“O. K. And I’ll drive you there right now, if you 
say the word — but what about your tent, and your trunk, 
and so on?” 

“Mr. Bates is going to stay longer in the tent; he’ll 
look after everything . . . I’ll go with you.” 

Pete struck off briskly across the hill and Claude kept 
at his side. At his cabin, Pete briefly told his wife to 
“look for him when she saw him,” then hitched up the 
same wagon which had brought Claude and Rodney Bates 
to Possum Creek. As they jolted along, the young man 
was a prey to melancholy thoughts, remembering that 
first ride through an unknown land, fraught with such 
pleasing expectations. The events of the past summer 
rose in review before him, but in spite of all the dis- 
appointments, the suspicions, the hardships, and above all 
the fearful tragedy of the night before, the face of Norris 
seemed to cast a sort of blessing upon all that had hap- 
pened. Whatever had come to pass, he had found Norris 
—and that was reward sufficient for all else. 


272 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


They had jolted along perhaps five miles, when a 
rumbling in the forest told of an approaching wagon. 
The two wagons met at the crossing of a shallow and 
exceedingly clear stream. 

“Hi, there, Dobe Sprockitt!” cried Pete. “Which 
away and where to?” 

“Hi, Pete! I been travelling some this morning.” 

“Ain’t been to Mizarkana, I reckon?” 

“Yap, been to Mizarkana; if ever’body must know, 
that’s where I been!” 

“Well, Dobe Sprockitt, you needn’t get so biggitty 
about it if you have been to Mizarkana, and as to 
‘ever’body-must-knowing,’ I don’t claim to be the whole 
earth.” 

“You ain’t the first,” cried the driver, gruffly, “who 
have held me up with ‘Been to Mizarkana this morning, 
been to Mizarkana this morning?’ Can’t a gentleman go 
to Mizarkana for the early train without arousing all the 
natives?” 

“Oh, ho! so you taken Giles Gradley to Mizarkana, 
did you? And he told you not to tell nobody and that’s 
why you’re so chesty, trying to throw dust in the air; for 
as to going to Mizarkana, they ain’t nothing in that to 
make a man act as if he was trying to smuggle whisky 
into the hills.” 

“Mr. Sprockitt,” interposed Claude, “You say some 
one has already been asking you about your trip; did 


OF THE OZARKS 


273 


you meet Norris Gradley, and did she ask you what Pete 
has just asked?” 

“I ain’t seen Norris Gradley since I don’t know when,” 
said Dobe, clucking at his horses. “Sure thing, I ain’t 
seen her this day nor yesterday, nor have she asked me 
any questions. So long, Pete!” 

When they had driven across the wide, sandy bed, Pete 
remarked, “Dobe was always and yet is, of an aggrivated 
and aggrivating temper. It was a birth-mark, I reckon. 
If you speak him kind he tears up the ground, but if you 
insult him he does no more, for fight he never would.” 

“He spoke of other people questioning him,” Claude 
said, thoughtfully, “and he must have meant Norris. In 
looking for her father, she would go to Mizarkana to 
ask if he had bought a ticket, just as we are doing.” 

When they reached the town which was built half 
in Arkansas and half in Missouri, they at once sought 
the small station. There they learned that at least half 
a dozen had bought tickets that morning to take the early 
train, and all of these travelers had come from the out-ly- 
ing district. The agent remembered Giles Gradley very 
well; Gradley was a man who never failed to impress 
any one having dealings with him, and in this neighbor- 
hood he was an object of especial curiosity. The news 
about his wife’s awful death had reached Mizarkana, and 
this had given additional romance to the slight figure with 
the massive head. The agent remembered that Gradley 
had bought a ticket to Bentonville, Arkansas. 


274 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


“I had a chat with him,” said the agent, who seemed 
glad to have his solitude relieved by his guests as they 
sat on boxes in his little office. “I said something about 
Mrs. Gradley, but he cut me short there. And then he 
told me that he was going to dispose of his property here 
and he knew of a real-estate agent who would trade for 
it. The agent lives in a town over on the highest part 
of the Ozark plateau — name of it, Bentonville. That’s 
where he’s gone, to do business with that real-estate fel- 
low. Hold on — he had a circular he was showing me, 
and I think he dropped it behind yonder box — he was 
in here; we had quite a talk; he wanted to find out if I 
knew anything about his agent, which I didn’t.” 

The station-agent searched behind the box and brought 
forth a crumpled prospectus of Benton County lands, ex- 
tolling the valuable tracts suitable for orchards. It had 
been printed by “G. M. Ross, Real-Estate Agent, Benton- 
ville, Ark.” 

Pete laid his hand on Claude’s shoulder. “That’s the 
place for you!” he declared with conviction. 

Claude nodded assent, then asked the agent, “Has any 
one been here this morning since the train left, asking 
about Giles Gradley’s destination?” 

“Oh, yap, as soon as it got out that Gradley had gone 
away, lots of folks inquired which way he’d gone. You 
see he’s what you may call our Local Interest.” 

“I should like to learn if any inquiries were made of 


OF THE OZARKS 


275 


you by a young lady of about eighteen — slight, medium- 
height, rather dark — ” 

“No lady, old or young, has been here this morning,” 
the agent interrupted. 

Claude was disappointed. “When does the next train 
leave for Bentonville ?” 

“Not till tomorrow morning.” 

“But I could reach it in a round-about way?” 

“Yes, if you took the train for Monette, due in about 
an hour, you could go there — about forty miles clear out 
of your way — then come back to Rogers, and change cars 
there for Bentonville, and get there this evening at about 
six — that is, if you want to put in the whole day travel- 
ling up and down.” 

“It would save twelve hours, as I’d have all night in 
Bentonville,” Claude told Pete, as they left the office. “I 
don’t know whether to go or not. If I stay here all day 
and night, there’s the possibility that Norris may come to 
make inquiries. But if she has already gone some other 
way, it would be all lost time.” 

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” said Pete. “I’ll stay right 
here on the grounds and if Norris shows up, I’ll send 
you a telegraph to Bentonville, and in the meantime you 
can be travelling that direction.” 

This suggestion Claude adopted. An hour later, he 
boarded the train for Monette, leaving Pete Poff to stand 
guard for the possible appearance of Norris. That even- 
ing at six, he stepped off the short-line car at Benton- 


276 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


ville, and accosted the driver of the only hack. Describ- 
ing Gradley, he inquired if such a man had come to town 
that morning. If so, the driver did not know; however, 
he added that that morning he had not driven the hack, 
and it was possible. 

The station was at the foot of Main Street. Look- 
ing up the street, Claude saw three real-estate offices, 
all frame buildings of a single room, and all close to- 
gether. He went from one to the other, but nobody had 
seen a man answering Gradley ’s description. Having 
learned that G. M. Ross, the real-estate agent, whose 
circular Gradley had possessed, lived farther uptown, the 
young man decided to go straight to his residence, since 
business hours were over. 

Although it did not seem probable, it occurred to him 
that by this time, Pete Poll might have made some dis- 
covery respecting Norris. Accordingly he stepped into the 
station and inquired if a telegram had come for Claude 
Walcott. 

To his surprise and joy, a yellow envelope was handed 
him. Tearing it open he read as follows: 

“Mizarkana, Mo., 3 p. m. 

“Claude Walcott, 

Bentonville, Ark. 

“Jim went to Bentonville this morning around by 
Gravette I reckon he didn’t go alone. 


Pete. 


/ 


CHAPTER XXIX 

A TOWN IN THE OZARKS 

A S Claude walked briskly up Main Street, he 
thought intently upon the telegram just received 
from Pete Poll. On reading it, he had asked at 
what time the train from Graveite reached Bentonville, 
and had found that if Pete had made no mistake, orphan 
Jim had been in town half the day. By the words, “I 
reckon he didn’t go alone,” Pete had evidently meant to 
imply that Norris was with Jim. Indeed, the fact that 
Jim had come to Bentonville on the track of Giles Grad- 
ley could only be explained by the fact that Norris had 
brought him, possibly for protection in her travels. 

Claude’s heart beat high as he reflected that Norris 
and Jim and Giles Gradley were all in this town of some 
three or four thousand inhabitants, and it did not occur 
to him that he could fail to discover the stopping-places 
of all three. As he looked about him he was struck by the 
width and beauty of the street, the granitoid pavements, 
the pretty cottages with their well-kept lawns, and above 
all, the people whom he encountered, whether afoot, in 
buggies, or in numerous automobiles. At first it did not 
seem possible that he was still in the heart of the Ozarks, 
but he had already observed that the towns offered a 
277 


278 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


marked contrast to the people living back in the hills. 
Among the pretty girls, well dressed women, and care- 
fully groomed men there was no suggestion of Lindy 
Prebby’s type, or that of the Poffs. 

When he inquired the way to the residence of G. M. 
Ross, the real-estate agent, he was answered and directed 
with so much courtesy and friendliness that he had an odd 
feeling of being made at home; and the looks he received 
as he turned the corner in the heart of the town to fol- 
low West Spring Street, were those of cheerful greeting, 
as if he had already aroused a personal interest in the 
inhabitants, and was being invited to make his home 
among them. It made him think, he did not know why, 
of Norris. 

She was constantly flashing across his mind as he met 
the young girls in their white dresses, white slippers and 
stockings, and noted with appreciation the pretty Southern 
faces touched to gaiety by the bright ribbons in their 
bare hair. Norris who had always been sadly out of 
keeping with the wilderness-life would have been in her 
proper setting in the larger towns of the Ozarks. 

Claude hurried past the postoffice, and, crossing the 
street at the corner where a large hotel had been newly 
erected, followed the pavement on the farther side, 
as he had been directed. Yes, there stood the large white 
house of a city physician, and next door to it was the 
tall frame residence with the wooden swing in the front 
yard. Claude’s heart beat rapidly; in the next cottage 


OF THE OZARKS 


279 


he recognized the home of G. M. Ross as it had been 
described to him. He eagerly passed through the gate in 
the wire-and-picket fence, traversed the narrow yard 
breathlessly, and gained the steps with the conviction that 
in a very few moments, he and Norris and Norris’s father 
would be face to face. 

Stepping upon the broad porch that extended the entire 
width of the house, he rang the bell which was answered 
by the wife of the real-estate agent. 

“Mr. Ross isn’t at home,” she said regretfully, her 
tone and eyes and manner expressive of the same hos- 
pitable friendliness which had permeated the casual crowds 
encountered on the street-corners. It was the same spirit 
of generous comradeship which he had discovered in the 
wilderness surrounding Ozarka, but here it was touched 
by refinement, while the voice melted in that indescrib- 
able modulation of Southern cadences common to the 
speech of the town. 

Claude inquired when Mr. Ross might be expected to 
return. 

The lady smiled. “He will be sure to come home 
about eight o’clock,” she said, “for he makes it a point 
never, if possible, to miss the moving-picture shows. He 
has taken a gentleman out to show him some land about 
seven miles from here; but they went soon after dinner 
and will have time enough to get back by eight.” 

“I think,” Claude said, “that the gentleman he took 
with him must be the one I have come to town to see. 


280 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


Did you happen to see him? I can describe just how he 
looks.” 

“No,” said the lady, with another friendly smile, “I 
was away until about two hours ago, helping with a din- 
ner which our church was giving downtown. But I know 
the gentleman’s name, for he has been writing to Mr. 
Ross about trading, a good while — it is Mr. Giles 
Gradley.” 

“The very man!” Claude exclaimed, trying to conceal 
his triumph. “And he will be here at about eight 
o’clock?” 

“My husband will be; but possibly he may leave Mr. 
Gradley at his hotel since it is on the way.” 

“Oh — and where is he staying?” 

“We have a big hotel built out at the edge of town 
at our springs. He stays there. It is called — ” The 
lady paused and then laughed. “The fact is, it was built 
for a hotel for people who wanted a summer resort, but 
was so large and costly it hardly paid ; so it has been sold 
as a sanitarium and then again as a hotel and then again 
as a hospital, and it is hard to keep up with its name; but 
I remember, now, that it is called the Tourists’ Hotel, 
since its last transfer.” 

Claude, on leaving West Spring Street next devoted 
his time to visiting every hotel in town with the excep- 
tion of the one just . described. He was searching for 
Jim and Norris. In the town there were five hotels but 
at none of these could he find the slightest clew to the 


OF THE OZARKS 


281 


two wanderers, and at last having convinced himself that 
they were not in the main part of Bentonville, he set 
forth to walk to the Tourists’ Hotel. 

A granitoid walk led out to the park, in the midst of 
which it was situated, and having arrived at about half- 
past seven, and nothing having been heard of Giles Grad- 
ley since his departure with the real-estate agent, Claude 
took supper in the vast and almost empty dining-room. On 
the front porch he waited till darkness crept over the sur- 
rounding woods and descended upon the winding walks 
of the park — but still Giles Gradley did not return. 

One thing he had learned; some one had come to the 
hotel about noon, and had examined the register, then 
had asked the clerk where Mr. Giles Gradley had gone; 
but the description of this inquirer did not answer that 
of Jim, and as it was a man dressed in the rude garments 
of the hills, Claude could not imagine who it could be. 
As for Jim and Norris, he felt almost sure that they were 
hiding somewhere in the woods that lay on the west and 
north, densely covering the rolling hills and coming up 
to the very road that surrounded the park. Somewhere 
in those hollows he believed they were awaiting the return 
of Giles Gradley. 

At half-past eight, he called up the Ross residence by 
telephone, but could get no answer. After several futile 
efforts, the girl at “central” kindly offered the information, 
“Mrs. Ross is generally at the moving-picture show at 
this hour.” 


282 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


Claude was divided between the expediency of stay- 
ing at the Tourists’ Hotel for the probable return of 
Gradley, or seeking Mrs. Ross to discover whether or not 
her husband had returned. After waiting till nine, grow- 
ing more and more restless with the passing minutes, he 
at last hurried back to town. He met a brilliant throng 
of men and women, the latter dressed as for the opera, 
streaming out of the moving-picture show, and among 
these was Mrs. Ross. 

He learned that the real-estate agent had not driven 
home from his day’s outing with Mr. Gradley. 

“If you will come to the house,” suggested Mrs. Ross, 
“you may find that a message is there telling me when he 
will drive in.” 

Grateful for the invitation, the young man once more 
went to the cottage on West Spring Street. Sure enough, 
a long-distance message had come during the absence of 
the mistress of the house, which the central office now 
delivered, to the effect that Mr. Gradley had decided to 
go on to St. Louis to learn if his friend Williams would 
enter on the Benton County deal, and Mr. Ross had 
driven him over to Gravette to take the train there; Mr. 
Ross would stay all night at Gravette and come back in 
the morning; Mr. Gradley would leave for St. Louis 
that night. As Gravette was eighteen miles away and 
was not to be reached by rail till the next day, Claude 
left the Ross cottage in disappointment and perplexity. 
To be sure, he might hire an automobile to take him to 


OF THE OZARKS 


283 


Gravette; but he could not reach that town in time to 
catch the train that would hurry Gradley away to St. 
Louis. 

Might he not be able to get Gradley by telephone? 
He darted back to the Ross cottage and learned that when 
G. M. Ross stayed all night at Gravette, he usually put 
up at the Hotel Ben Davis. On the chance of catching 
him there, Claude hurried to the central office, and was 
soon closeted in the long-distance booth. After consider- 
able delay he got the landlord of the Hotel Ben Davis, 
but was informed that G. M. Ross was out, having gone 
to the installation ceremonies of the masonic lodge. 

Was the gentleman there whom Mr. Ross had driven 
across country — a gentleman named Giles Gradley? 

Yes; did he wish to speak to Mr. Gradley? 

Claude did, most earnestly. There was a pause during 
which Claude listened to the doleful whining of the long- 
distance wire. At last a voice came to his ear so rounded, 
so distinct, so familiar that his blood tingled: 

“Hello!” 

The speaker was Giles Gradley. 

Claude was about to address him with the informa- 
tion that Jim was in town, and doubtless Norris herself, 
when a report sounded in the receiver that almost deaf- 
ened him. Something had gone wrong somewhere. After 
that, the line was lost. It was not until more than half 
an hour later that he was able to get Gravette, and then 
the hotel, and at last the landlord. 


284 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


“Oh,” said the landlord, “are you the man that wanted 
Gradley? Well, Gradley has just left on the train for 
St. Louis.” 

After this failure, Claude went to the five hotels in 
town, then to the Tourists’ Hotel, and at each left a 
detailed description of both Jim and Norris with direc- 
tions — enforced by liberal payment — that he be called at 
once, should either answering the description make an 
appearance. As for himself, he lodged at a small hotel 
near the station, for he was resolved to carefully examine 
every man : woman or child who boarded the train at 
the single station. 

After a troubled and almost sleepless night, he made 
an early morning tour of the different hotels, as well as 
various investigations among those who would be apt to 
observe any strangers entering town. These efforts were 
fruitless save in one particular. 

There was a man who kept a peanut-and-popcorn 
wagon, enclosed like a glass house which afforded a stool 
on which he rested, read his papers, and conducted spas- 
modic trade, and this wagon stood at the curb just across 
the street from the city park. No one could come up 
or down Main Street without being visible from this 
glass wagon-house, and Claude learned from the pro- 
prietor — who showed the same genial courtesy and friend- 
liness as that of the other citizens — that he had seen a 
youth answering to Jim’s description yesterday afternoon. 

“Was he alone?” 


OF THE OZARKS 


285 


“Now, let me see; no, I believe there was a man with 
him . . . yes, I am pretty sure he was walking 

along with some one, but what kind of a man or boy it 
was, I can’t say. Jim had red hair, did he?” 

“Yes, and is thin and awkward and freckled, dressed 
in a ragged dark brown suit, in a white shapeless felt hat.” 

The peanut vendor nodded. “That’s Jim? Yes, I 
saw him, and he was with a man. Or was it a boy ? Man 
or boy it certainly was, but now that I try to recollect, 
everything gets blurred except that it was a male. I can 
answer for Jim having red hair, and that uncommon 
violent. But that’s all I can tell you.” 

When the train for Rogers stopped at the station, 
Claude was on the gravel platform, looking keenly into 
any face that approached the car-steps. When the train 
pulled out, he dejectedly walked beside it till he came to 
an open space past the corner of the next street, where 
the railroad, the high road, and the front fence of a 
yard, formed a large triangle of public land, grass-grown 
and shaded by tall forest trees. For some reason the 
train had slowed down after pulling out from the station, 
and Claude seated himself on a stump in the verdant 
triangular park, to see that no belated passenger hurried 
to board it. From his position he had a clean sweep of 
his eye to the station; nobody approached the train, which 
at last stopped just before it reached the cleared ground. 

Suddenly a figure in blue overalls, carrying a large tin 
lunchbox, hurried out of the house that overlooked the 


286 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


triangle, and this man climbed hastily into the engine- 
room. The train started forward as if to make up for 
lost time. As the last passenger-coach passed the stump 
on which Claude rested, a face at one of the windows 
caused him to start up with a cry. 

It was Norris, and the glance that revealed her per- 
sonality told him that she was dressed in male attire. 
She was therefore the “man” who had been seen in Jim’s 
company. She was evidently travelling as the “Little 
Fiddler.” Claude waved and shouted, but the face did 
not turn in his direction and, stare as he might, he could 
not discover Jim in the coach. 

The fireman — the one in blue overalls who had darted 
across the grassplot to the engine — noticed Claude’s ex- 
citement, and, looking back, said something to the engi- 
neer who thrust his head out of the window. Their 
impression was that Claude wished to come aboard, arid 
for a moment there seemed to be a consultation about 
stopping to let him do so. The young man was now on 
his feet, and finding that he could not catch Norris’s eye, 
he waved his arms, and began running along the footpath 
beside the track. Ordinarily, the train would perhaps 
have slowed down to permit him to catch up with it, but 
on account of loss of time, the engineer and fireman ap- 
parently argued that further delay might cause them to 
miss connection with the Rogers passenger for St. Louis. 

Accordingly, instead of slowing down, the engine rapidly 
gained in speed, and when Claude reached the spot where 


OF THE OZARKS 


287 


the path crossed the track to wander toward the upward 
slopes of Bentonville Heights, the last coach, that con- 
taining Norris, was hopelessly beyond his reach. 

Breathing violently from his fruitless race, Claude 
staggered back, half-dazed, to the stump, and sank upon 
it trying to understand how Norris could be upon that 
train when he knew she could not have boarded it at the 
station. For awhile, the vision of her face dancing past 
the little park, and his amazement over having beheld it, 
occupied all his mind. But it was not long before this 
wonder gave way to immediate plans of action. 

Since Norris had gone to Rogers, presumably on her 
way to St. Louis, he must follow; and possibly an auto- 
mobile might convey him from Bentonville in time to 
intercept Norris. If he found that impossible, he would 
learn, from the real-estate agent, Giles Gradley’s St. Louis 
address, and go thither in the reasonable expectation of 
thus finding Norris. 


CHAPTER XXX 


IN THE CITY STREETS 


LAUDE darted to the station and learned that 



the Rogers train made close connection with the 


St. Louis train. It was evident that Norris had 
learned of her father’s destination, had boarded the train 
at the station above Bentonville, and was on her way to 
the big city on the Mississippi. 

As nothing but the merest chance could have thrown 
Norris in his way, so it would have been impossible, save by 
chance, to have prevented the series of failures that had 
attended him since his parting from Giles Gradley. Al- 
though it seemed fully as useless to go to St. Louis as 
to stay at Bentonville, he thought it possible that the 
very law of chances might at last alter the run of suc- 
cessive failures. When the real-estate agent drove up 
to his residence, he found Claude in waiting; but he 
could give the young man no definite address in St. 
Louis. He believed he had heard Mr. Gradley say that 
his friend Williams lived on Washington Avenue, but of 
this he was not sure. If Williams agreed to the Benton 
County orchard deal, he and Gradley would come to 
Bentonville in a week’s time ; if not, they would probably 
not even write to call the deal off. 


288 


OF THE OZARKS 


289 


The next morning found Claude in St. Louis, where, 
after the night spent on the train, he devoted his time 
and energies to an exploration of all the Williamses on 
Washington Avenue. At the end of two weeks of inde- 
fatigable labor, he found himself utterly disheartened. 
Not the remotest clew had he been able to find connected 
with Giles Gradley, Norris or orphan Jim. 

One morning after breakfasting at a hotel about two 
blocks from the Union Station, he sat dejectedly at his 
window in the second story, his head buried in his hands, 
motionless and inert. He had definitely resolved to re- 
turn to Kansas City, which meant a relinquishment of his 
endeavors to find Norris. The roar of the city was in his 
ears. Below, whither, however, he did not direct his 
gaze, three lines of streetcars passed, forming as it were, 
a duplication of the triangular park beside the Bentonville 
railroad — but a triangle not of grass or forest trees. 

Suddenly out of the gloom of his mood, an idea took 
form, at first hazily, then, as he meditated upon it, with 
clearer and clearer outlines. It seemed useless to search 
for Norris, and equally hopeless to try to discover Giles 
Gradley. But there was Norris’s mother; it would be 
easy to find her, or at least the minister who could dirqct 
him to her lodging-place. Some day Norris must come 
to her mother — and if Claude should take the unfortunate 
woman under his own care and protection, Norris, in 
finding her, would find him as well. 

There was something sweet and ennobling in the very 


290 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


idea. It gained upon him, passing from a pleasing fancy 
to a definite resolve. As he meditated, it seemed to him 
that the beautiful harmony of a deed of rare and dis- 
interested kindness to the helpless, was mingling with his 
thoughts and Vith his love. This harmony, this music of 
generous impulse was not however, purely imaginary. He 
did not know how long he had remained immovable be- 
fore it dawned upon him that there was really some wild 
sweet music rising above the roar of the streetcars and 
the ceaseless trampling of feet and calling of voices. 
Scarcely had he roused to the fact that the music was 
external to his consciousness, before, with a violent start, 
he recognized the strains — they were those of the Ozark 
Song. 

He started up and peered down into the street. Stand- 
ing in the central space between the streetcar-tracks 
was a policeman, waving first to one car, then to an- 
other, thus signalling which should move forward across 
the intersecting lines, and appearing, by his regular move- 
ments, to be beating time to the music of a violin. Yes, 
there was a violin — beside the policeman stood the slight, 
erect form of Norris — Norris dressed as the “Little 
Fiddler;” and beside her was Jim. Norris was playing 
the Ozark Song. Her hat was thrown back, and her 
face was turning now to one side, now to another, now 
directly toward the hotel entrance. 

“Norris!” shouted Claude, impulsively. The roar of 


OF THE OZARKS 


291 


the street seemed to carry his voice back into his room — 
Norris did not look upward. 

Claude dashed to the door, and hurried down stairs. Out 
in the street he found the same restless throngs, the same 
rattle and grind of heavy wagons, the same clanging 
and shrieking of streetcars, punctuated by automobile 
warnings. But Norris and Jim were gone. Claude 
accosted the policeman who still beat time, but now, 
to imaginary music. 

“Yes,” said the policeman, “it’s a chap that’s hunting 
his father, and he says he’s made up a tune that his father 
knows, so I let him play out here whenever he wants to 
— he has a notion his father is hiding in this neighborhood 
and in a busy spot like this, is liable to show up at any 
time. But he hopped a streetcar a minute or two ago — 
I guess it was just when you started downstairs. There’s 
a chap with him for company. I feel sorry for the kid 
— he comes here at least three or four times every day 
and always plays that same air; then he goes to another 
part of town. He’s a quiet and peaceable chap, as deli- 
cate as a woman, and this kind of life he won’t be able 
to stand very long, so I’m hoping his father will show up 
before he gives out.” 

Claude eagerly sought all possible information regard- 
ing the other quarter of St. Louis in which the musician 
had been seen. 

“Pretty tough neighborhood,” the officer said — “over 
on Chestnut, not far from Seventeenth Street. You see, 


292 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


when the chap followed his father to town, he had reason 
to think he might either put up at your hotel and live in 
style, or hide away over yonder amongst the riffraff. I 
think he said his father lived on Chestnut when a boy, — a 
different set of people lived there then, — a big convent 
just across the street, and a church on Seventeenth and 
Olive where his parents used to take him to Sunday- 
school. This strolling chap fancies he may have gone 
back to get in touch with the associations of his child- 
hood. Here — I’ll give you a line to the officer on that 
beat.” 

In the dingy street thus described, Claude presently 
found himself walking impatiently up and down, but it 
was a good while before he saw any policeman. The 
convent with its great wall had been torn away; and the 
row of houses which Giles Gradley, as a boy, had looked 
upon as home, were now discolored with the buffetings 
of wind and rain, and incalculable layers of sooty grime. 
From the windows of the narrow three-story brick build- 
ings looked out, here and there, a painted face or frowsy 
head that made Claude shudder at the thought of un- 
protected Norris among such surroundings. 

“Yes,” said the officer on the beat, when at last found, 
“that fellow gave me a terrible lot of trouble a few days 
ago. He came here playing his fiddle, and it looked like 
every house on the street emptied itself out on the pave- 
ment to vie with each other in trying to drag him into 
its particular parlor. The girls danced around him and 


OF THE OZARKS 


293 


sang and laughed and talked in a way to make an old 
policeman blush for his kind, especially his female kind. 
As soon as I was on to the disturbance, I had my young 
chap by the collar, dragging him through a circle of 
dancing, shouting women and, ‘You come with me/ 
says I, brief. 

“ ‘Let me explain/ says he, pointed. 

“ ‘No nonsense/ says I, fierce. And yet, he was such 
a delicate, puny-looking sort of fellow, I hadn’t the heart 
to treat him rough. In just about a minute, he had told 
me what he was after, and it struck me as reasonable. 
He said his father had deserted his mother and now was 
ashamed to go back, though ready; and that his mother’s 
reason depends on his showing up. And he said that his 
father had got fond of a tune played in the Ozarks, and 
often went about humming it when in good humor, which 
wasn’t any too frequent, I judge. And only the night 
of his going away, he had learned that his own child — 
this boy with the fiddle — had composed that air. 

“ ‘And so/ says the boy, ‘if father ever hears me play- 
ing this tune he’ll know who it is and come to me/ says 
he, reasonable. 

“I thought awhile, and then I turned to that crowd of 
degenerate sinners and I puts the whole case before 
them. They listened at first with gigglings, and then with 
soberness, and then with pity; and the saint that lines 
the inwards of the blackest soul, showed right through; 
and one by one they went back to their holes. And 


294 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


after that, the boy comes every day, morning and night, 
and plays and plays, and nobody looks out, and nobody 
disturbs him or the kid that always tags along behind 
him. 

“This morning he comes and plays as usual, only 
longer and more persistent, looking so pitiful and weak 
that I doved around the corner to get a bracing at the 
saloon. It wasn’t in nature, at least not in man’s, to 
hear that music and look at that unhappy face and not 
be braced. By nature I’m a man fitted for the temperance 
cause, strong. 

“Well, at last he puts his fiddle under his arm, and he 
calls out penetrating, ‘Father! Father!’ There was win- 
dows raised, but no heads out. Then he speaks again, 
and says, concise, ‘I leave St. Louis this afternoon — I 
don’t believe father is in the city!’ 

“No sooner heard, than some doors opened, and out 
steps several of those painted women and wise girls, walk- 
ing timid, and they comes up to him, and says they hope 
his father will bob up, and if he does according to descrip- 
tion, they’ll get him to his wife in Kansas City or know 
the reason why. And they shakes hands with the fiddler, 
sort of shamefaced and yet determined, and blessed if 
they didn’t go with him to the head of the street, and 
wish him luck and not one word, or one look, to make 
any one feel that gentlemen shouldn’t be present.” 

Claude returned to his hotel in a spirit of deep dejec- 
tion. It is true that the policeman of Seventeenth and 


OF THE OZARKS 


295 


Chestnut had promised to get word to him should the 
fiddler appear again, and the officer who directed the 
movements of the streetcars on Washington Avenue was 
to call him, should the player appear on the street at 
such moments as the young man might not be looking 
from his window. 

But Claude was convinced that Norris had spoken her 
matured determination when declaring that she would 
leave the city that afternoon. Now, she was gone, and 
it would be impossible to find her by means of the police, 
without betraying the secret of her sex. 

That night he could not sleep. From across the way, 
incandescent advertisements, flashing on and off in various 
colors to exploit the merits of rival shoes, sent white, red 
and green shafts across his pillow in a maddening pro- 
cession of glaring lights. At midnight he gave up the 
attempt to find repose, dressed himself, and sat at the 
open window. 

The policeman no longer stood in the middle of the 
triangle, waving his gloved hands to watchful conductors, 
but the streetcars still glided into view from three direc- 
tions, gleaming with lights. The watcher imagined that 
the spirit of the Little Fiddler hovered below, and in his 
ears sounded unceasingly the inaudible notes of the Ozark 
Song, verse following chorus, chorus pursuing verse, in 
an eternal circle. In what other town or city would 
Norris be playing that air on the morrow? On what 
strange streets would she be sounding forth — 


296 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


“In the Ozarks, the Ozarks * * * 

Oh, there are happy days, just for the wishing!” 

And in the ceaseless round of that strange inner melody, 
Claude was singing — 

“Skies blue, 

Hearts true, 

I love you, . . 

He recalled the idea which perhaps had been given 
birth by the music in the street when Norris had played 
below his window without his being aware of her pres- 
ence. The idea crystallized to definite resolve, while 
that same melody, now but a ghost-dance of liquid notes 
haunted his soul. For a time, at least, he would give up 
all efforts to find Norris or her father. He would 
search out Norris’s mother, and, as far as possible, bring 
comfort and peace into her broken life. 


CHAPTER XXXI 

IN A STATE OF NATURE 

1 am in a state of nature,” said Peter Poff, “which 
my thoughts, so to speak, they are growing wild. 
They’ve never, as Scriptures puts it, been digged and 
dunged; but such fruit as they brings forth is my own, 
and I know my own. That’s how I put it to Bud, here, 
and Bud, he ain’t said nothing.” 

This oracle was delivered before the shanty in Ozarka, 
once the property of Giles Gradley, but now known as 
“Pete Poff’s Store.” Peter was perched upon an empty 
goodsbox facing a circle of loafers, occasionally turning 
his head impartially from side to side in the open-mouthed 
enjoyment of his tobacco. In the crowd lounged Bud, 
his back against the wall, hands in trousers-pockets, jaws 
steadily moving, bushy whiskers quivering from this 
exercise, twinkling red eyes glowing upon his brother. 

There was also present a native who, for the past few 
months, had gone to Southern Arkansas in his covered 
wagon then returned to a cooler climate, to be posted up 
on the doings of the neighborhood. It was for his benefit 
that Peter offered his elaborate introduction. He now 
continued with accustomed briskness, “AND — ” This 
297 


298 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


having been given the time allotted to the longest and 
most impressive of sentences, he went on: “If . . . 

anybody knows the ins and outs of this story, I do. So 
neighbor, if you’ll come with me into this matter, I’ll 
warrant ye that you’ll come out of it with both pockets 
full.” 

“As to coming out with you,” said the prodigal, “it 
depends on how brisk you are, for I must be driving home ; 
it’s getting late. But I put out of the Ozarks the day of 
that happening at Cave Spring, and I ain’t heard nothing 
since except that she was drowned — and hadn’t never 
been married in no sort of way you can take hold of.” 

“Pard, don’t say anything against her. When Death 
crosses out a name, there’s no more against it, this side 
the grave, for a person that dies, has done all a person 
can do.” 

“And what became of Rodney Bates?” 

“It’s like this, pard; if you know the end of the story, 
are you going to follow all its winds and bends? Would 
you sit there patient and dumb-like listening to me, if so 
be you knowed the outcome, whilst I was worming my- 
self gradual to the conclusion?” 

“Not me — and I ain’t a-going to sit long whether the 
outcome is knowed or unknowed. If you can’t put it over 
in about five minutes, what become of all the parties, 
just tell it to the others, I’ll be gone.” 

“What we all hated worse,” spoke up Hiram Prebby, 
“was the way we treated Norris. Had my darter of 


OF THE OZARKS 


299 


knowed what Mrs. Gradley was, she’d never of believed 
about that poisoning. She was a ring-leader, my darter 
was, howbeit they never meant Norris no real harm, but 
was full-blooded, just full of life as young folks must 
needs be (for they’re empty of anything else), and Nor- 
ris, you know yourself, could play the fiddle like an 
angel. And glad am I Lindy never come up with her 
when she was rigged out as the Green Witch. She got 
to enjoy them lonesomenesses, anyhow I” 

Stodge Blurbett spoke sternly: “They’s no fiddles in 
heaven, nor organs nuther. Angels is otherwise em- 
ployed.” 

“Well then,” growled the traveler, “what become of 
Norris? Maybe she ain’t so complicated as Rodney 
Bates.” 

“Gentlemen,” cried Peter, “there’s a girl which her 
soul ain’t one color on the outside and another in the lin- 
ing! Let me tell you what her father done. After that 
awful time at Cave Springs, he hunted up Claude Wal- 
cott at his tent and says he, T’m going to slip away to- 
night, and lose myself and never show up again, but 
Norris don’t know it. You love her, she loves you— in 
the morning come to my cabin; I’ll be gone — she’ll be 
there; make her happy,’ says he. May be you think 
Walcott didn’t tread on air the next morning when he 
set out bright and early for Gradley’s place!” 

“And so he takes her away, did he?” 

“Who?” 


300 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


“Why who you was a-saying. Pete, you vex me ! That 
Boston feller.” 

“No, he never took her away. When he got to the 
cabin, Norris was already gone. Her father hadn’t been 
so sly but what she’d found out his intentions. So she 
left a note for Claude, telling him that her father was 
hiding because he felt himself unworthy, but she’d search 
all creation till she found him. That’s about what she 
done, too.” 

“Alone?” 

“She taken little Jim with her — remember that kid 
whose father died a drunkard four or five months ago? 
He went along for company.” 

“How’d she get along?” 

“She went dressed like a man. Yes sir, she went like 
the Little Fiddler. Nobody knowed the difference, see- 
ing her come and go. She knowed her father once had 
an indimit friend, name of Williams, in St. Louis, and 
she taken the idea that he might of gone to him. After 
she got there, she hunted up about a million Williamses 
but none of ’em the right brand, and she wandered about 
the streets playing and playing on her fiddle, not no fancy 
jigs, but the old toons that her pa and ma used to sing 
together — always hoping her father might be happening 
along. But first and foremost she always played the 
Ozark Song, it being a tune she had made up her own 
self, as her daddy knowed.” 

“And did he ever happen along?” 


OF THE OZARKS 


301 


“Well, sir, and then she remembered that her father 
owned a property in Hannibal, Mizzoury — a big house 
on the river, and there had been some talk of him selling 
the same to this Williams. She taken the idea that they 
might be there together. And . . . after work- 

ing with her music along the road, she gits to Hannibal 
and there she played the old toons in the street and looked 
everywhere, but no use, and there she taken sick and writ- 
ten to me, asking me to come which I had always been 
her friend. You bet I went, and found she and Jim; 
she was pretty bad off and scared she’d be worse, and that 
they’d find out she was a woman. It was pitiful. Fel- 
lers, if you’ve ever saw me when I was riled, you may 
of thought me a rough and tough customer and I guess 
my legs and hands is awkward, yap, I reckon so , for I 
have been to school but a very few days. But when a 
man like me has had six chillun of his own, if he ain’t 
plumb no account, he has just naturally got hisself a 
little mellered. Well, I went into that sick room and I 
was doctor and nurse, yes and woman, too, though not 
dressed contrary to nature, and Norris was just my little 
gal. I brung her out of a terrible fever, dinged if I 
didn’t, though she like to of died. When she could sit 
up, nothing but skin and bones, what do you reckon she 
begun talking about?” 

“Where was Claude Walcott all this time?” demanded 
the traveler, somewhat angrily. 

“ Talking about her father, yap. Wanted to go 


302 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


right off after him — had another idea. It made me feel 
like taking him by the throat, him dodging and dooking 
in the four corders of the globe, and her sitting propped 
up on her pillers, her big black eyes all full of wishes, 
and her pale face so pitiful — ” Peter began to cough 
hoarsely, muttering, “I orter never of began this tale.” 

Bud growled as he winked his red eyes very fast, and 
chewed with amazing rapidity, “Skip that there discrip- 
tive work, Pete, or I’ll jolt you one, side the head.” 

After an ominous pause, Peter resumed. “Her idea 
was that her daddy might be in Joplin working in the 
mines, because she had always gave out that the ‘Little 
Fiddler’ come from Joplin, and he might feel he was 
atoning if he went there and worked hisself to death. Do 
you know what atoning means?” 

“Not me, I don’t.” 

“Means getting in the same tone as something else, for 
to be harmonious. Well, while she was a-talking all day 
long about that idea, one day I bought a newspaper, 
’cause when I go to the city I always act the fool. The 
kid says to me, ‘Paper, mister?’ — with a sorter grin as 
if he knowed I was from the backwoods, and thought I 
might skeer at his paper, same’s a hoss. So I bought it 
to bluff ’im, and taken it up to Norris for to pass her 
time away. Fust thing she seen was that they was a great 
big gospel-meeting going on in Joplin — hundreds was 
j’ining the church; the town was being turned inside out 
and all the sinners shaked loose, and being ran in, in 


OF THE OZARKS 


303 


droves. Nothing wouldn’t do her but what we must hike 
out for Joplin at once, though she so puny. And I was 
willing, for I knowed if her daddy wasn’t j’ining some 
church or other, he had orter.” 

“Same of you, Pete,” remarked Prebby. 

Peter blushed sheepishly. 

“See here, Pete,” cried the returned exile, “have you 
went and got religion over yander?” 

“Well—” 

There was a shout. 

“Well then, I did Peter said defiantly. “It made 
me feel mighty noble at the time and it ain’t something 
that can’t be shook off. Well, we attended that meeting, 
and when the sinners went forward we looked for Giles 
Gradley but we couldn’t find him.” 

“You’d better find him quick,” cried the man from 
South Arkansas, starting up, “for I’m putting out for 
my shack.” 

“Wait — wait — I’ll find him in a minute! We kept 
going, and one night there was an awful moving sermon, 
and the first time we knowed Giles was in the house, there 
he stood, down front, his hand in the preacher’s! When 
Norris see him — you’ll understand she never dressed no 
more like the ‘Little Fiddler’ after I got her out of Han- 
nibal— she riz right up, then staggered as if about to fall 
* * * So I puts my arm about her and helps her 

along up the aisle till she could put her arms about her 
father. And when he saw her * * * both of ’em 


304 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


sobbing and sort of calling each other’s names in low 
voices, like doves — well, sir, a thankfulness riz right up in 
me, and something told me that such troubles as they’d 
had couldn’t never in the world come right unless God 
made ’em right. And I want to say that religion is all 
O. K. There’s more to it than the graveyard. You see, 
Gradley had alltime thought Claude Walcott was taking 
care of Norris. And when he heard about that fiddling 
from city to city * * * But he ain’t the same Grad- 

ley yow-all knowed.” 

“And where was that Walcott feller all that time?” 

“Well, religion made Gradley see everything different, 
and he listened to Norris, and agreed to go with her to 
see his wife. You see, while you’re feeling religious — 
which is generally at the first, — you ain’t caring about 
what you like, but what you orter do. So they begged 
me to go along. Norris couldn’t think more of me than 
she does, and her daddy was proud the way I’d stood by 
her, and Jim, he ain’t got much sense, you know. So 
we went north, and hunted up the preacher what had 
put the true Mrs. Gradley into a private home. He 
preached for a Kansas City church when Norris knowed 
him, but he was gone — he’d lost his job ’cause he couldn’t 
sees as his Bible was changing as fast as the religion of his 
flock which is strictly up-to-date. We traced him to a 
little village where he’s hired for two Sunday in the 
month but ain’t paid punctual because it’s so little, it don’t 
seem important.” 


OF THE OZARKS 


305 


“Was Mrs. Gradley there?” 

“Nux. But what do you reckon the parson said? — 
that Claude Walcott had taken her to Kansas City where 
he lives, and was living in the same house with her, seeing 
that she was as comfortable as could be! Man! I wish 
you could of saw Norris’s face when she found that out 
about Claude! Come to think of it, I never thought Nor- 
ris so terribly pretty, did you? But her face just then 
made me feel like I orter had a veil over my eyes, likes 
as if she had just been talking in the burning bush. As 
the preacher told about the lovely room where her ma is 
kept, and how Claude takes her out to drive, and how he 
sits with her in the garden where I reckon every spear 
of grass is worth half a dollar (such is the value of the 
earth that bears the same) Norris kept getting more won- 
derful, and Gradley more moved, and me more aggra- 
vated that at last I had to go away — didn’t want to hear 
no more, yet I liked it, too. We pretty soon hiked for 
the city. We taken a taxicab which it is one of them 
wagons that moves by a clock, and when we got to the 
stone house, it wasn’t nobody but Claude hisself that 
come out to meet us, he having saw us from the window; 
and when Norris * * * ” 

Peter swallowed hard and was silent. 

The exile suggested sympathetically, “Norris was glad, 
I guess.” 

“Oh, shut up !” snapped Peter. “Well, we went in. I 
staid in the hall when they went into the room where 


306 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


Mrs. Gradley was kept. And I heard her voice, slow 
and lifeless saying over and over, as if to herself, ‘Why 
can’t I see his face ? Why can’t I see his face ? It would 
be all right if I could see his face’ — same as if she was 
some blind person. Norris went in first. The voice 
stopped of a sudden, then it goes on louder and louder, 
as if about to scream, saying the same thing — ‘Why 
cant I see his face?’ Then Giles Gradley went in. 
And when she saw him * * * well, nobody didn’t 

have to tell her whose face it was, all a-streaming with 
tears. I tell you boys, it was too much for me — I left.” 

“If I was a woman,” spoke up Prebby, “I’d never live 
with that man after what had happened, as I hear Mrs. 
Gradley ’s a-doing; not if I had my right mind, I would- 
n’t.” 

“Not for Norris’s sake?” 

“Not for nobody. And lots and piles of women would- 
n’t, either.” 

“Well, this woman would, and did. And as she’s the 
only woman we’ve got in this tale, try to be satisfied. I 
ain’t saying her and him can be happy same as if there 
hadn’t been that other one ; that’s for them to say. But 
they seemed sorter peaceful, last time I see ’em, and no 
question about Claude and Norris being joyful!” 

“Seems to me,” Prebby persisted, “It’d been better even 
if they hadn’t married, with that blot on their ancestry to 
be telling their children.” 

“Well, Lord! I ain’t saying this mightn’t of ended 


OF THE OZARKS 


307 


better, but that it ended just so. As for me, living folks 
interests me, I ain’t losing no sleep over posterity. Pos- 
terity is going to turn very few of their hairs gray on my 
account. As to Rodney Bates, they’s nothing to tell; he 
just went off and kept at his work and never made no 
figger like folks does in plays. I think he understands 
now that the woman we called Mrs. Gradley never loved 
anybody but Giles — ” 

“Pshaw! You don’t think she really cared for Giles 
do you, when she was fixing to put out with Bates?” 

“Yap, that’s what I think. And when I get to remem- 
bering how angel-lovely that woman was, how — but I 
can’t find no words for it.” 

“Then Pete,” said Bud, reprovingly, “let them speak 
as can.” 

“I was just going to say that the way she lived, it 
sorter shakes faith in human nature. But again, I get to 
thinking of Norris with her heart warm toward us folks 
living down here in the valley, and her face lifted up — 
you know what I mean — to the stars. Her face reminds 
me of them stars, always bright, twinkling with joy, 
whether we’re watching ’em or not, because they’re so 
much closer to God than we are, I reckon.” 

Silence fell upon the rough men of the hills and Peter’s 
meaning, though rudely expressed, softened their grave 
faces. Nature, too, was in sympathy with their solemn 
mood. The sunlight had long since been withdrawn, 
leaving the world cool and plaintive. 


308 


THE LITTLE FIDDLER 


Along the upward sweep of the hills, the rocks had 
lost their jagged edges; the mouths of the caves had 
become black and brooding. Post oaks and dwarf pines 
seemed holding their heads close together as in counsel 
against the approaching darkness, their common enemy. 
Over the rounded swells of the dark-green world stole a 
delicate mist as if to hide its last deformity. 

Far away, a redbird, not yet hushed to silence, shook 
out his wondrous melody upon the still air. So distant 
was the tree which seemed suddenly to have found a 
voice, that his notes came faint and fine, as if the “Little 
Fiddler” were tuning for the dance. 

A timid breeze wandered here and there, as if in 
cautious search, stirring first one clump of trees and then 
the next, leaving behind its fairy feet a little wave of dis- 
appointment that soon faded away to silent forgetfulness. 
The breeze, as if still bent upon its mysterious quest, 
slipped, at last, away — for the “Little Fiddler” was no 
longer there — and passed over the wavering blue line of 
the Ozarks. 


THE END 


























































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